


The Way Damaged People Love

by Luna_Hart



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Erik Killmonger Lives, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Self Harm, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Redemption, Slow Burn, protective shuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Hart/pseuds/Luna_Hart
Summary: Bucky Barnes wakes up from cryosleep. Erik Stevens wakes up from a coma. Can these two men conquer their own demons, find redemption, and just perhaps help each other heal?





	1. "Good Morning."

Pain is like a chameleon. It takes on so many different forms, so many different feelings. Sometimes it hurts low in the gut, a slow gnawing pain that lingers and burns. Sometimes it strikes high in the throat, slashing and tearing like claws. Sometimes it hurts so much it’s difficult to breath. Who would have thought there were so many different kinds of pain, with so many different names.

Lose.

Hurt.

Guilt.

_“The world took everything from me!”_

Torment.

Grief.

Dispair.

_“Everything I ever loved!”_

Agony.

Suffering.

Trauma.

Rage.

_"I hope you're ready bro, because I'm just getting started."_

Rage. A sickly all consuming type of pain that overwhelms every fibre in the body. Rage is the kind of pain that makes muscles vibrate and teeth grind. The kind of pain that creates tunnel vision. Too much pain for too long and the mind retreats into itself. It begins to expect pain at every turn. Every new person is just another possible source of some kind of pain.

All that pain is wanting for is a target. Something or someone to lash out at and make hurt just as much. And then there was one. Finally, a target for that rage. A means to enact revenge, to escape the pain. Finally, they would pay. They would all pay. Pay for all the suffering and shattered hopes, for all the pain.

His pain.

_“I’m gonna make sure we’re even.”_

It was always about getting even. An eye for an eye. A sin for a sin. Tit for tat. Hurt me, I hurt you back. Playground rules are the same ones that apply to war. It’s just a larger playground, where everyone plays for keeps. No transgression can be left unpunished. No one dead left un-avenged. Someone has to pay. And if people get hurt along the way, it’s just the price of war. Of revolution. Besides, everyone is gonna die one day.

  
_“Everybody dies. It’s just life around here.”_

He just hadn’t expected to die that day.

_“Hell of a move.”_

This kind of pain was hard and sharp, diving deep into his chest. It radiated out, along his sternum and ribs. Up his spine. His legs felt numb. Weak. He was weak. He had failed, failed everyone he swore to avenge. To reap justice for. So much death and for what?

So close. _So close._

So beautiful.

_“It’s beautiful.”_

For the first time that he could remember, he actually felt peace. There was no more pain. For just one brilliant moment, there was no pain. Just peace and maybe a little relief. Relief for no more pain, of any kind. The light was fading to a burnt orange and he felt a chuckle bubble and pop somewhere deep in his chest, unable to make it to his lips. It was fucking poetic.

There was a lightness when he finally pulled the knife from his own chest. He saw stars and the light bloomed bright above the mountains as the last sliver of sun slipped into the shadows. As the light faded, so did everything else. Darkness folded in around him and he closed his eyes.

 

  
He opened his eyes.

He hadn’t been expecting that. Bright lights blinded him. Maybe those nut jobs who’d had near death experiences were right after all. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. He blinked and the light stayed unchanging and steady. Shadows danced out of the corners of his eyes and hushed murmurings reached his ears.

Then the pain.

It was as blinding as the light, radiating out from his chest in all directions. He choked, the breath lodged in his throat. Muscles spasmed and twitched.

Death wasn’t supposed to hurt, not after the initial deed. That’s what was so alluring about it. The promise of no more pain. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what he wanted. He thrashed but found he couldn’t move. Something was holding him down and it just made him thrash harder.

The murmurings grew louder and alarmed. People were touching him as voices shouted above him. Then hands carefully clamped down on either side of his head. A voice, deep and familiar, murmured in his ear.

It was more startling than calming and he froze in surprise. He hadn’t had anyone talk to him like that in a very long time. Not in that soothing, gentle tone. The kind of tone used on frightened children and wounded animals. He resented it instantly but before he could do anything more, something cold flooded up his arm and he forgot everything.

 

This time when Erik opened his eyes, it was quiet. The lights were low and gentle. He blinked, looking down at himself. Loose black pants covered his legs while thick white bandages wrapped tight around his chest. Panic and confusion thrummed under his ribs and he struggled to sit up. Once again, he found himself being held down. His brain sluggishly recognized the thick straps that wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and hips as Vibranium. Then he recognized the man sitting quietly in the chair next to him.

"Good morning," the man said quietly.

“What did you do?” he whispered, voice rough and rasping.

“Your heart would not stop beating,” T’Challa answered, leaning forward slightly. Even know, Erik could read the regality in the man’s shoulders. It made him angry. “It would not stop when you pulled the knife, it would not stop while I carried you to the healers,” the man continued. “They say a hair further right and you would have died instantly. Looks like the heart-shaped herb kept you alive for a reason.”

“You should have let me die,” he said bitterly, hating how weak he sounded. He flexed his hands against the restraints and hated the feel of metal against his skin. Hate was easy. Hate was familiar. It was something tangible and solid to focus on, to cover up the unease and fear underneath.

T’Challa took a slow breath, the pain in his dark eyes making Erik feel sick. “I’m sorry,” he began softly but it just made Erik hate him even more. “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want your pity,” he spat, the pain bubbled under his skin and spilling past dry lips. “You’re gonna regret this, cuz. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

The look he was got was unreadable. “You are my family, whether you like it or not,” the man said as he slowly got to his feet. “And family does not abandon each other.”

“A little late, don’t you think?” Erik snarled. “Twenty six years too late.” He wasn’t expecting the man to nod, eyes sad and resigned. “I know,” T’Challa replied softly and those were his last words as he turned and walked out of the lab. “Coward!” he growled at the man’s retreating back. “Come back and finish what you started!”

Silence was his only response.

 

 

Erik was given his own suite, once he was well enough to leave the lab. Apparently he'd been in a coma for a week. The heart-sharped herb worked fast, but even now he felt weak and wobbly.

The rooms were large and sprawling, massive windows overlooking the mountains. The bathroom was bigger than the entire apartment he'd grown up in. It was ridiculous. He gently thumbed the smooth _kimoyo_ beads that wrapped snuggly around his wrist.

He remembered his daddy tell him about them, how they linked every single Wakandan to the other, storing boundless information and knowledge. He remembered wanting one so bad. These were sealed however, fit snug enough that they could not simply be removed. They would act merely as a tracking device and were keyed only to his cousin. 

It may not be an eight-by eight box and he may not be in chains, but these plush accommodations were no better than a prison cell, the bracelet on his wrist no better than an ankle monitor.

Erik made his way into the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror for a long time. He'd lost weight. His eyes looked sunken and tired, muscles soft and unworked. His eyes strayed to the thick ropey scar that traced his sternum, rough and red-looking as it still healed. He squashed the impulse to punch the mirror until it shattered.

He showered quickly and efficiently, refusing to let himself indulge in the soothing fall of water. He dried roughly and threw himself into the massive bed fully naked, wincing as the movement tugged at his still-healing wound. Erik let his head thump back against the soft pillow, feeling uncomfortable. After a lifetime of sleeping on cots and hard ground, the massive bed felt like trying to fall asleep on a cloud. A part of him considered sleeping on the floor. The cool wood looked firm and inviting but everything was starting to ache. He knew he'd regret the decision in the morning.

Anger and pain fizzed like acid in his throat, threatening to strangle him. This isn’t what he wanted. Darkness finally crept in against his will, burning away the pain and pulling him under into an illusion of peace.

 

  
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The thing about cold was that there are so many different types. People will say they’re cold, but what kind of cold are they? Is it the light tingling cold that comes from a walk on a brisk morning? The kind of cold that seeps deep into your bones and refuses to be chased away by anything short of a strong cup of coffee? The type of cold that burns hot even as it tinges the skin blue? There are so many different words to describe cold, so many different sensations attached to them.

Freezing.

Icy.

Bone-chilling.

Raw.

_“Sergeant Barnes...,”_

Piercing.

Cutting.

Numbing.

Sharp.

_“The procedure has already started.”_

Stinging.

Biting.

Winter….

_“You are to be the new fist of HYDRA!”_

Memory was an odd one too. It’s so relative, so easily influenced by personal prejudice. Two people can experience the exact same scenario and walk away with completely different set of memories. His memory was like looking through a kaleidoscope, moments and feelings spiralling in an ever changing jumble. Sights and sounds would trigger faces and feelings. Places. Sensations. Voices.

_“Hey! Pick on someone your own size!”_

Too short, too skinny, too stubborn. Never knew when to quit.

 _“I thought you were dead.”_  
_“I thought you were smaller.”_

No longer short, no longer skinny, still too stubborn for his own good. Damn punk never knew when to quit.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

That had hurt to remember. Two faces that were different but the same swam before his eyes, merging and separating in a dizzying display. Both blonde, baby blue eyes wide with worry.

_“The man on the bridge. Who was he?”_

Pain, sharp and sudden cracking across his cheek. Pain was a constant, something he’d come to expect, to rely on.

_“I read about you in a museum.”_

He lied. He remembered. This time it didn’t hurt, at least not in the same way. It wasn’t a hot pain, crackling across his temples as his scrambled brain struggled to drag memories back from the abyss they'd been banished to. This time it hurt deep in his chest, like a heavy squeezing sensation that wouldn’t allow air to enter his lungs.

_“You’re lying.”_

Dark clothes, blonde hair. Same face, more muscle. Those same baby blue eyes staring across the room at him, beseechingly. Begging him to remember, to be the National icon’s best friend and not the faceless monster that Russian parents told their children about to make them eat their spinach. He felt guilty because that wasn’t something he could promise.

_“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”_

And that was the kicker. That’s what it all came down to. He didn’t think he was worth it. Any of it. He knew it wasn’t his fault, the things he’d done. Deep down he knew. Scientists had forced him out of his own body and used it as a tool for their own gain. But he still remembered them.

_“I remember all of them.”_

Every last terrified face, every plea, every scream. It all reverberated and rattled around his head like dice in a box. Every mother, father, child, friend. He’d killed them all. What kind of monster deserves redemption after all that?

 

  
His eyes fluttered as he peeled them open, feeling cold. He shivered and then couldn’t stop. His teeth clacked against each other as his muscles spasmed painfully. Something heavy and soft dropped over his body and he reacted violently against it. Except that his muscles wouldn’t respond properly and he ended up just thrashed weakly.

“Sergent Barnes.”

He flinched, blinking rapidly. Out of everything, he wasn’t expecting to look up into the kind and concerned eyes of a young teenage girl. She smiled, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” she said, accented words lilting gently.

“Bucky,” he croaked, willing his muscles to stop twitching. “Bucky,” she repeated with another smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he said, blinking rapidly to clear the blurry spots that wouldn’t stop dancing before him. “Some confusion is normal,” she said with a light chuckle. “You are defrosting, for lack of a better term. You just need some time for your muscles to readjust. Do you know where you are?”

“Wakanda,” he said, slowly sitting up. “And you’re Shuri. I remember you.” She beamed, hand hovering watchfully as he pushed the blanket back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He scanned the room on instinct, clocking the exits and the guards that stood in front of them. Two tall statuesque women armed with spears stood by the far door. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he knew there were at least two more somewhere behind him.

“You remember. That is good,” the girl said, pulling his attention back to her. Bucky huffed a breathy chuckle. “I remember a lotta things now,” he said, unable to keep the bitter edge from his voice. The hand on his arm squeezed gently before disappearing.

Bucky glanced down at his left side, at the patch of silver metal covered by soft black material. He shuddered as phantom pain tingled along a limb that didn’t exist, hadn’t existed in over seventy years. “Why did you revive me?” He asked, the fog finally beginning to burn from his mind. “Did you find a cure? Where’s Steve? Is he here?”

“One question at a time, white boy,” Shuri said, laughter in her eyes as she turned back from the computer display that bloomed in hologram form above a work station a few feet away. “Steve is not here,” she said, soft understanding in her dark eyes. “My brother’s been advocating for full pardons for you and everyone involved in what happened but until then, he has to stay in hiding.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes closed, hand clutching rigidly at the edge of the bed. Guilt churned his stomach, making him dizzy. His stomach rolled and heaved and suddenly Shuri was at his side with a basin. Just in time as he heaved, emptying his stomach. Nothing but bile came up, burning his throat. “It is a perfectly natural reaction,” Shuri soothed, patting him on the shoulder as she moved to discard of the sick.

“Never happened to me before,” he croaked, swallowing thickly. “Different technology, different reaction,” the girl explained with a shrug as she handed him a bottle of water. “Little sips,” she cautioned as he cracked the lid. He drank half of it and felt a little more human. “Why am I awake?” he asked. Shuri’s face split into a massive grin.

“I know how to fix you.”

 

  
Bucky stood in the middle of the large open room, unsure what to do next. T’Challa said that it would be best for him to stay at the palace, what with it being close to the labs, until his treatments were complete. Bucky knew the real reason.

He glanced at the smooth polished beads that wrapped around his wrist. Shuri had explained that it acted as a portable database and communication devise and also, Bucky assumed, a tracker. 

Shuri and T’Challa had both assured him that they were the only two people connected to his particular set of beads. Only they could contact him or track him. T’Challa also said that someone would be assigned as his escort and that it was for his protection. Bucky knew it was because they wanted to keep an eye on him. He didn’t blame them. He would have insisted on precautions if the Wakandans hadn’t done it first.

What he hadn’t been expecting was this massive suite that was at least three times bigger than his memories of the tiny flat he had shared with his mother and sisters growing up. He had it all to himself.

The massive double doors, which Bucky didn’t miss locked from the outside as well as the inside, opened up into a huge open-plan living room kitchen combo. Massive windows looked out over the city and beyond, the mountains. The bedroom held a ridiculous king size bed, with an on-suite bathroom that had a huge shower and a massive tub that could easily fit three more of him.

Bucky moved mechanically, stripping the soft scrub-like garments he’d been provided with and stepping into the shower. The water fell like rain, soft and soothing. He stood for a long time underneath the hot spray, just breathing as the heat relaxed tense muscles. Growing up, hot water was a luxury. As the Soldier, bathing was being sprayed down by a high powered hose, the water always freezing cold.

He scrubbed his body and long hair with soap that smelled like fresh linen and didn’t turn his skin red from the harsh chemicals. The towels were soft and fluffy and didn’t chaff his skin. The clothes he found in the massive wardrobe were soft and silky and reminded him of the silk handkerchief his mother had kept in her pocket, an inheritance from her grandmother.

It was all so extravagant and made Bucky feel uneasy.

The bed was too big and too soft and felt like he was floating. He squirmed, trying to get comfortable but nothing worked. He finally gave up and stalked out into the kitchen to get a glass of water. His hand shook a little on the tap and he clenched it into a fist.

He felt numb and he hated it. His body, his mind, everything was numb. He’d felt numb ever since he’d pulled himself and Steve from the Potomac. Ever since he’d lost his purpose. He’d gone through the motions, played the part well enough to fool even Steve, but nothing could get rid of the cold crawling feeling underneath his skin.

 _Pain_ , a treacherous part of his mind whispered.

Pain had always been a constant, something he could rely on. Pain kept the cold at bay, kept him warm, kept him alive. When he was in Bucharest, he’d punch his flesh knuckles bloody to clear his head. They’d be healed by morning and the next night he’d do it again, just to stay sane. He didn’t know what else to do. He’d been in so much pain over the years that now it was the only way he knew how to cope.

He was dangerous. He knew he was. It was always there, the Soldier, lurking underneath the numbness, waiting to strike. He didn’t know what might set him off, what might trigger the conditioning.

All someone had to do was say the goddamn words.

Pain snapped through his hand like a flash of lightning, accompanied by a thunderous clap of shattering glass. Bucky’s head cleared instantly. He stared down at the shattered remains of the glass, at the blood slowly dripping from the deep gouges across his palm and fingers. He didn’t even flinch as he pulled a large shard from the webbing between his thumb and forefinger with his teeth.

He washed away the blood and then threw the shards of glass in the garbage, hoping no-one would notice it missing. Blinking owlishly, he felt his body start to flag, even if he didn’t feel tired. He stood in front of the massive bed for a long while, just staring at it. He finally settled for wrestling the covers and pillows onto the floor.

He quickly ditched the pillow, allowing his head to thump against the polished hardwood. Guilt and other unpleasant feelings were incessant, along with the lingering fear of what memories might resurface during sleep.

After Zola’s experiments, he couldn’t dream. He didn’t dream for a long time. That was the only good thing about cryosleep, being unable to dream. Bucky remembered the nightmares, once he’d regained enough of his memories after fleeing America. He’d lived in a noisy, rundown apartment where sirens, fights, and loud parties were the normal. The noises covered his screams.

Finally, exhaustion won over. Just as the room began to brighten with the rising sun, Bucky’s eyes slipped shut against his will. It wasn’t what he wanted but the darkness was insistent and he was pulled under into a numb and restless sleep.

 

 


	2. Like The Horizon Itself Was On Fire

“Almost done,” Shuri murmured, brow furrowed in concentration as she focused on the remains of his left shoulder. Bucky gritted his teeth, his hand gripping the edge of the table stiffly. She’d been at it for nearly an hour, digging into the ruined prosthetic to numb and seal off raw nerve endings and clean up the wreckage left behind from Stark’s energy weapon.

To say it was painful was like calling the battle at Normandy a nice day at the beach.

She’d given him something for the pain but with his enhanced metabolism, his body had burned through it in minutes. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, already feeling like a burden in this strange country. He’d handled worse. They techs never used any numbing agents while administering repairs.

He felt sweat bead on his upper lip as she hit a particularly tender area and this time he couldn’t stifle the soft groan that rumbled at the back of his throat. He felt her freeze. “Did that hurt?” she said in surprise. Bucky nodded stiffly, feeling compelled not to lie. “When did the anesthetic wear off?” the girl asked sharply. “Pretty early on,” he admitted reluctantly.

A solid thwack of an open palm to the middle of his forehead made him rear back, startled. It wasn't a painful blow, more surprising than anything. He felt the guards on the door shift, hands tightening around their spears. Shuri didn’t seem worried. “Idiot,” she snapped crossly, hands planted on her waist. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I…sorry?” he stumbled, reeling from the fact that he was being lectured by a sixteen year old girl. Shuri just tisked her tongue sharply, still glaring daggers. “Next time, you tell me right away,” she told him sternly as she loaded another dose into a futuristic-looking syringe. “Yes ma’am,” he replied sheepishly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Good,” she said, a twinkle in her eye as she injected more numbing agent around where metal fused with muscle.

“There,” she said brightly, setting her tools down and sliding the soft black cover over the sealed stump. “Come, look at what I have been working on for you.” She practically skipped over to her work station, pulling up the holo-screen. Bucky made his way over slowly. He still wasn’t used to this level of technology yet. He’d adapted well enough to the twenty-first century but this was something straight from one of those sci-fi novels Steve had got him one christmas.

“It is only a prototype,” Shuri explained, fingers flying. “But already far superior to what you had before.” With a smug smirk and one last flourish, she pulled up a familiar looking schematic. Bucky’s heart dropped into his boots. His eyes slid over sleek lines and overlapping plates. “It is Vibranium, of course.” Shuri was still talking, eyes shinning as she chatted excitedly. Bucky couldn’t hear much over the roaring in his ears.

_“Sergeant Barnes…,”_

_“Your work has been a gift to mankind.”_

_“The procedure has already started.”_

_“You’ve shaped the century.”_

_“You are to be the new fist of HYDRA!”_

_“I need you to do it one more time.”_

“No,” he said stiffly, interrupting Shuri’s excited rant. She froze, mouth parted mid-sentence. It would have been comical if Bucky’s lungs hadn’t been trying to crawl out of his body via his throat. She took a breath, words poised on her tongue but Bucky didn’t want to hear them. “If _that_ ,” he spat, eyeing the prototype with disgust. “Is the only reason you agreed to help me, you can put me back on ice right now. I won’t be your soldier.”

Her eyes widened. In his periphery, he saw the guards take a step forward, tense and alert if he tried anything. Not that they’d be able to stop him. Even with one arm, the girl would be dead before they had taken a step if that’s what he wanted. He didn’t and felt sick as the thought flickered through his mind.

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply from Shuri and marched out, his escort, the Dora Milaje called Ayo, falling silently into step behind him. He ignored her, as he always did, following the path back to his rooms in silence.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he cursed under his breath. He’d never been so short tempered before. Steve had always been the one that was quick to anger, quick to fight. Bucky had been the balance, the counterweight of reason to Steve’s hotheadedness. These days he felt like everything was just some sort of trigger. He took a slow breath and then another, forcing himself to calm down. He stood by the windows for a long time, working on how best to apologies to the young Princess for his outburst, when there was a gentle knock at the door.

He opened it, unsurprised and surprised at the same time to find Shuri standing on the other side, hands clasped in front of her. “May I speak with you, Sergeant Barnes?” she said.

He nodded stiffly, stepping back. Shuri glanced back, murmuring something to her bodyguard in their mother tongue. The Dora’s eyes sharpened, a flurry of urgent words spilling from her mouth but the Princess cut her off sharply. The warrior's jaw flexed. She held her tongue and stepped back, but was clearly unhappy. Bucky stepped away from the door, leaving it open to try and appease the bodyguard but Shuri closed it behind herself with a soft click.

“Sergeant Barnes, I must apologize,” she stated, eyes painfully sincere. “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. Please believe me when I say that neither I nor my brother, nor any other citizen of Wakanda, would ever entertain the idea of using you as a weapon. We made a promise to you and to Captain Rogers to do everything in our power to help you recover and that is all we intend to do.”  
  
The speech sounded a little rehearsed and Bucky wondered how many times she had practised on the walk over here. Still, the meaning behind it was real and honest. “I accept your apology,” Bucky said, matching her formality with his own. “If you will accept mine. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

Shuri smiled, her eyes a little sad. “No apology necessary,” she insisted. “I got a little carried away.”

“A little?” Bucky teased, already feeling more at ease. She smiled, the last apprehensive tension bleeding from her shoulders. “The arm will wait for you,” she said earnestly. “Whenever you are ready for it. I will see you tomorrow, yes?” she continued brightly before Bucky had a chance to process her bold statement. “On one condition,” he said. Her eyebrow quirked as she waited. “That you stop calling me Sergeant Barnes.” Shuri’s smile split into a full-blown grin. “Very well, Bucky,” she said brightly, turning to leave.

“And Bucky?” she said, turning back with one hand on the door handle. He waited as she hesitated, eyes searching his. “Do not feel like this is a prison,” she finally said. “My lab is always open, if you find yourself in need of a friend.”

Bucky swallowed thickly, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. “You are too kind, Princess,” he said softly with a small bow. She smiled, an understanding in her dark eyes as she went took her leave. He let out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding, feeling a little lighter.

He moved back to the window, staring out over the sparkling buildings and across the rolling grass hills beyond. It was a beautiful city. He rolled his shoulders, feeling antsy and fidgety. It had been a week since he’d been woken from cryosleep. There wasn’t much for him to do.

Bucky sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. He eyed the massive bed through the double doors. As tempting as if was, he couldn’t let himself fall asleep. He never remembered his dreams, but he did remember being torn from sleep at least twice a night by his own screams, skin soaked with sweat and throat raw.

So instead, he stripped off his shirt and moved to stand in the bedroom doorway. Stretching up, he latched his fingertips on the edge of the doorjamb. After testing it to make sure it would support his weight, he hauled himself up slowly until his chin was level with his fingers. Then just as slowly, he lowered himself back down. His muscles bunched under the strain and eventually began to burn. After three hours of various exercises and drills, he was just beginning to sweat and decided that was enough. His muscles thrummed, craving more.

He missed it.

The slight thrum of his muscles and nerves, the sharpened reflexes, the thrill of the fight as endorphins fled the body. The challenge of an opponent who knew what they were doing, the ache of worked muscles, of bruises blooming from hits not blocked, knuckles aching after a long fight. He didn’t dared ask about any sort of sparring gym or target range. He knew that behind the fancy words, they didn’t trust him farther than they could throw him. And he didn’t blame them.

Little did he know that there was someone on the other side of the wall feeling the exact same way.

  
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Erik growled a low rumble deep in his throat as he scrubbed sweat from his forehead.

He’d run through his regular warmup before worked through drill after drill against the heavy bag in the corner. Faster and faster, harder, higher. Faster kicks, harder punches that were left unsatisfied for lack of something that tried to hit back. Finally he’d done all the set drills he knew and he wasn’t near tired yet.

What he wouldn’t give for someone breathing to take his anger and energy out on. 

But he wasn’t going to get that so Erik ran the drills again and again until he started to feel his muscles finally begin to flag. He sent one last devastating kick that had the bag rocking wildly on it's chain before stalking into the bathroom. He showered quickly and dragged on clean clothes. He caught his reflection in the mirror, the barest hint of the dotted scars peaking above the low collar.

His hands itched for something sharp, something to carve into his skin. He owed the dead blood and hadn’t been able to pay his debt, but that wasn't something he was going to get either. There was nothing in the rooms, not even a butter knife, and no clay to make sure the wounds scarred right. 

He paced the bedroom, the fidgetiness that had been momentarily calmed now bubbling back inside his chest. He lashed out with a snarl, closed fist striking the tall glass window. It reverberated with a low hum but stood intact. He hadn’t expected anything else. The first thing he’d done in the suite was try and throw a chair through it.

He hated this.

It had been over a month since he’d awoken strapped down like some lab rat. A month since he’d been cooped up in these rooms with nothing to do. No purpose. No drive. Fucking nothing. T’Challa had visited, once and in the beginning. Needless to say that had not been pleasant and the man hadn’t been back since. To top it all off, it seemed that Erik now had a neighbour in the suite next door, if the guttural screams that had woken him up every night for the past week were any indication. Whoever it was had better sort their shit out and fast. He wasn’t gonna put up with it for much longer.

He stalked back into the bathroom, running his hand under cold water. The bruises that had blossomed across his knuckles were already starting to fade. “Fuck,” he muttered. His eyes happened to land on the small window above the swimming pool sized bathtub. He hadn’t been physically able to even consider that an option before. Just maybe….

The latch slipped open easily under his fingers. He hoisted himself up onto the ledge, looking out. A steep drop greeted him, easily hundreds of feet over the city. He looked to the side and smirked. A small groove was carved into the side of the building, scaling up six stories before being met by the roof’s overhang. It would be a tough climb but nothing he couldn’t handle.

The window itself was just barely wide enough to allow his broad shoulders through if he squeezed but that wasn’t what he was worried about. Slowly he extended his his wrist towards the window. As soon as the _kimoyo_ beads neared the edge of the window, the top-most bead began to glow blue. Erik yanked his hand back with a curse, before the shock could be delivered. It wouldn't incapacitate him for long, but it would daze him for long enough for the Dora to arrive. They would be alerted if the beads passed whatever boundaries had been programmed into them. Apparently the windows counted, even the ones they hadn’t bothered to lock.

“Fuck,” he spat, slamming the window closed again.

He stalked back through to the main room. He was collared like a fucking dog, complete with shock collar and master. An angry energy festered in his chest, brimming under his skin and just begging for an outlet. In leu of a proper target, his hand reached out and carelessly batted at a glass perched on the kitchen island. It fell, shattering into millions of tiny shards on the tile floor.

“Oops,” he muttered.

He snatched an apple from the bowl on the counter. Taking a massive bite, he chewed messily, strolling past the line of tall bookshelves. His fingers brushed across the spines, carelessly knocking a few from their shelf. He hooked a finger around one and pulled it out. _Crime and Punishment_ by Fyodor Dostoevsky fell open across his palm.

Erik snorted, spraying pieces of apple across the carpet as he chucked the book over his shoulder without a second glance. Something shattered and he felt a grim sense of satisfaction. He continued along the shelves, snatching at another book. This too was tossed over his shoulder, landing with a soft thump.

Heat blazed under his skin and he sent a whole row of books tumbling to the ground with a vicious swipe of his arm. A well placed kick splintered the shelf in half. He froze as a soft click sounded behind him. With a guttural snarl, he turned and whipped the half-eaten apple at the intruder. T’Challa caught it easily, eyes unreadable as he surveyed the damage.

“Hey cuz,” Erik said with a feral grin, showing teeth as his muscles practically hummed in the face of a possible confrontation. “Long time no see.”

“I meant to visit sooner,” the other man said, like nothing was wrong and this was a simple social call between relatives. “But business delayed my return from Washington.” Erik scowled, scoffing quietly. “So to what do I owe this honour, _your Highness?_ ” he said mockingly, opening his arms in a sarcastic bow. If T’Challa took offence, he didn’t not show it. Instead, he placed the apple on the counter and knelt to pick up a book that lay twisted at his feet.

“You should not show them such disrespect,” he chided, carefully brushing glass shards from its cover. Erik snorted rudely, sauntering over like he hadn’t a care in the world even while his eyes burned hot with suppressed rage. “You’re one to talk about respect,” he drawled. T’Challa turned to him, that unnerving look in his eye that made Erik feel like some kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Wisdom beyond years.

“Respect is earned,” T’Challa said softly. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some fucking child,” Erik snapped back, taking a menacing step forward. “Then maybe it’s time you stopped acting like one,” the man replied, looking Erik calmly in the eye.

Erik took one last step, coming to stand toe to toe with the other man. They were of a same heigh, with T’Challa having a scant inch on him. “Fuck you,” he whispered through clenched teeth. A small humourless smile pulled at T’Challa’s lips as he continued to meet Erik’s hot gaze steadily. “Spoken like a child,” he said mildly. Erik cracked a harsh laugh, hands clenching into fists by his side. “You don’t get to pull this high and mighty crap on me,” he snarled. “I see through it.”

“And I see through you,” the other man said calmly.

Erik flushed, the words striking a nerve. The way T’Challa looked at him with that calm and steady gaze made him feel off-balance. He took a step back before he could stop himself. Hiding behind a feral smirk, he kept backing away, playing it off as intentional. Still, he saw something shift in the other man’s eyes and knew he hadn’t been completely successful. Erik cursed silently, mentally kicking himself for showing weakness.

“Get out,” he hissed.

“N’Jadaka—,”

“Erik!” he snapped harshly. “My name is Erik.”

“Erik,” T’Challa amended, holding his hands up in a peaceful gesture. “Please,” he tried but Erik wasn’t having it. “I’m done with you, cuz,” he snarled. “So unless you’re here to put claws in my chest and finish what you started, then get the fuck out.”

T’Challa said nothing else, swallowing thickly. They stared at each other for a long moment, Erik’s chest heaving and fists trembling, T’Challa’s eyes sad. “Very well,” the other man said, finally turning and walking to the door. He paused, setting the book down on a small table.

“Aren’t you tired, cousin?” he asked softly. “Of what?” Erik snapped, sneering across the room at the other man. T’Challa glanced over his shoulder, lips twisting sadly as he returned Erik’s heated gaze evenly.

“Of being so angry all the time.”

Erik froze. He had no snappy comeback for that, no sharp wit or biting remark. Sad satisfaction flooded T’Challa’s eyes and before Erik could find something hurtful to say, the man was gone.

He stood there for a long while, fists clenched as his breath came out in sharp bursts through his nose. Maybe he was tired, but it sure has hell wasn’t something he was ever going to admit, especially to _him_.

  
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Bucky was bored.

It had been days of nothing but scans and tests, followed by more scans and more tests. Shuri had insisted on  run simulations on the scans before beginning the treatment to remove the control of the trigger words on Bucky himself. “I do not want any set backs or mistakes due to lack of information,” she had said firmly as she had hooked him up for yet another scan which she’d been unable to preform when he was in cryo.

In the mean time, Bucky was bored.

He’d already read the handful of books that were in his suite and was hungry for more. He remembered he liked to read back when he visited the museum in New York. While in Bucharest, he’d spent hours at the public library, hat pulled low over his eyes.

He knew his _kimoyo_ beads could pull up a wealth of information but there was something alluring to the smell of old books, the feel of paper under his fingers. It was one of the things he didn't really like about the modern world. Screens everywhere. People reading from their phones, from computers, from tablets. Here in Wakanda, people read from holograms projected from the beads around their wrist. Bucky missed the feel of paper under his fingers, the smell of ink and binding glue.

He may have mentioned something offhand to Shuri as one of their sessions came to a close. She grinned. “I know just the man to help,” she said, eyes sparkling. Her fingers flew over her _kimoyo_ beads, bringing up a holo-communicator. A miniature version of T’Challa appeared in her hand. They had a rapid-fire exchange in Wakandan before Shuri prompted the hologram to disappear. “He should not be long,” she said, moving to detach the sensors from around his head.

By the time Shuri had finished packing away her equipment, the doors slide open and T’Challa stepped into the lab. “Brother, I have a job for you,” Shuri said excitedly, skipping over to embrace the tall man as she switched into Wakandan. T’Challa smiled fondly at his sister, replying swiftly before turning his attention to Bucky.

  
“Sergeant,” he said, holding out his hand with an easy smile on his face. “It is good to see you again.”

“Highness,” Bucky said as he clasped the man’s wrist firmly. “Please, call me T’Challa,” he said, waving away the formalities. “Then call me Bucky,” he replied, feeling more at ease around the man with every minute. Their interactions had been few since everything that had happened during and after Vienna. Even when Steve had brought Bucky to Wakanda, he had only exchanged a few words with the man, just enough to know that T’Challa held no more ill will towards him.

“Would you follow me?” the regal man said, gesturing to the door. “I have something to show you I think you’ll like.”

Bucky allowed himself to be lead through the confusing maze of the palace, Okoye and the Dora Milaje that were part of the king’s personal guard keeping a respectful distance behind them. “I see you have embraced the local fashion,” T’Challa commented, a teasing twinkle in his eye. “Oh, yeah,” Bucky mumbled, looking down at the soft pants and loose tunic-like shirt he’d taken to wearing. He had decided to top it all off with a shawl-like wrap, something that hung down over his left side and hid the metal components from view.

“How do you like Wakanda so far?” the king asked as he turned an abrupt left and lead Bucky up a winding staircase. “It’s nice, what little I’ve seen,” he replied truthfully. “Well, we will have to make sure you get to experience its beauty in full,” T’Challa promised with a smile. Before Bucky could think of something to say to that, the king paused before a set of ornately cared metal doors. “Here we are.”

Bucky gazed up in awe.

The doors were polished silver, clearly Vibranium as everything else was in this city. Effigies of panthers and swooping geometric designs were masterfully carved into the front, the big cat’s eyes winking with precious jewels. “Hold your wrist to the panel,” T’Challa instructed, gesturing to a small glass pad to the right of the door. Bucky did as he was told while the other man fiddled with his own _kimoyo_ beads. One of the beads glowed brightly and chirped before growing dark once again. There was a low hum and the doors slowly swung open.

Bucky stepped into the doorway and stared. Before him was a massive room with huge vaulted ceilings and enormous stained glass windows. Narrow walkways crisscrossed the towering shelves that spanned the three stories from ceiling to floor, accessible by spiral staircases set in every corner.

Colourful light danced across what had to be hundreds upon hundreds of books.

“There are works here from all over the world,” T’Challa explained, a knowing smile on his face as he took in Bucky’s gobsmacked expression. “All different languages and on many different topics. I have keyed your _kimoyo_ beads to the door. You may come here whenever you like. I sometimes like to take a book up to the roof to read," the man added. "The view from there is spectacular. You’ll find the elevator down the hall from your quarters.”

Bucky just nodded, unable to find the words. The man chuckled, clapping a hand on his good shoulder. “Come,” he commanded, leading Bucky further into the room. “I have someone for you to meet.”

That someone turned out to be a small and wrinkled old woman. She barely came up to Bucky’s elbow. Her hair was white as snow, her kind-looking face seamed with wrinkles. “This is Lu’zani,” T’Challa explained, interspersing his introductions and explanations with the occasional bursts of Wakandan. “She does not speak English, but your _kimoyo_ beads can act as a translator so communication will not be a problem. She knows this library like the back of her hand and can help you find anything you wish.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly, wishing that words were enough. “I mean for everything. Really, you don’t…you don’t owe me anything.” A hand found his shoulder again and squeezed gently. “It is an honour, my friend,” T’Challa said firmly. Bucky didn’t trust his voice so he just nodded. T’Challa squeezed his shoulder once more before taking his leave.

Bucky blinked back the stinging sensation in his eyes as he turned his attention to the old woman. She looked up at him scrutinizingly with a slight tilt to her head. After a moment, she bent her head, talking rapidly at her beads. _“What are you looking for?”_ a lilting robotic voice asked.

“Good question,” Bucky muttered under his breath, taking the meaning further than the woman had meant it. Lu’zani just raised her eyebrows at him, waiting. Bucky licked his lips nervously. “Do you have anything in Russian?” he asked hesitantly.

 

  
Bucky wasn’t sure how long he sat in the plush window seat on one of the upper walkways. Eventually the sun shifted enough to throw shifting colours across the pages of _In the First Circle_ by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. He glanced out the window, seeing the sun beginning to dip low over the mountains and realized that he’d been there all day. _“What are you looking for?”_ that rhythmic tinny voice asked and he looked up to see Lu’zani approaching with her soft, shuffling steps.

He grinned sheepishly, thinking she was asking literally as he had been scanning the horizon when she’d arrived. _“What are you looking for?”_ she asked again with a pointed look, one of the _kimoyo_ beads around her wrist glowing softly. Bucky swallowed, understanding the deeper meaning she clearly meant beyond just looking at the pretty view.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

Lu’zani smiled, moving slowly to perch on the cushion in front of him. _“You do not lie,”_ the beads translated. _“This is good.”_ Bucky ducked his head, hiding a blush even as he smiled. He already knew he liked this woman. He reminded him of the view fleeting and fuzzy memories he had of his own grandmother; gentle yet stern, eyes kind while words were blatant and to the point.  _“There is nothing wrong in the not knowing,”_ she continued. _“It means you still have room to learn.”_

“You are very wise,” he said respectfully. There was a twinkle in her eye but something more hidden behind it. He didn’t even have time to flinch before a gnarled had clasped his chin firmly and tilted his head up. His eyes met hers. She gazed at him for a long time, calculatingly.

 _“You carry much weight on your shoulders for someone so young,”_ the beads translated softly. _“And yet,”_ she continued before he had a chance to say anything. _“Maybe not so young after all.”_ Lu’zani raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question. Bucky swallowed thickly, feeling his palm behind to sweat.

 _“Find someone to share your burdens with,”_ she told him gently. _“The lone wolf does not survive come winter.”_

Bucky flinched back from her touch, muscles snapping rigid with shock. He sucked in a sharp breath and the air felt cold, freezing in his lungs like water. If she took offence to his reaction, Lu’zani didn’t show it. Instead she just smiled at him again, patted his knee, and shuffled off. It took Bucky a long moment to get control over his breath and body back. He uncoiled his muscles, set the book carefully aside, and forced himself to walk calmly out of the library.

Ayo fell into step behind him the instant he stepped out into the hallway. He took the spiralling staircase back down the way he’d come. He navigated himself pretty well, until he got to the end of a long corridor and wasn’t sure which way would lead him back to his quarters.

“Left,” a soft voice from behind him said. He turned, finding Ayo standing easily behind him, a spark of a smile in her eyes. “Thanks,” he said, realizing that was the first words he’d spoken to her beyond _‘Hi’_ when T’Challa first introduced them. She inclined her head, the smile now reaching her lips.

Her eyes snapped past his shoulder and grew hard, face suddenly stoney as her muscles radiated tension. Bucky whipped back around, alert for whatever threat was ahead.

A tall, muscular man was being led down the hallway by no less than eight Dora Milaje, all with their spears aimed at his throat. Heavy Vibranium cuffs were locked around his wrists and ankles both, glowing bright blue. Dark braids hung over eyes heavy with distain as they blatantly raked Bucky over from tip to toes. The man sneered, showing sharp teeth.

“Well, look-y here,” he drawled, the American accent snapping sharply in contrast to the lilting tones Bucky had become accustom to. “What, not even two months since Wakanda went public and we already got white boys strutting ‘round like they own the place.”

Bucky said nothing, staring back cooly. He'd heard more than once that his stare was unnerving, to his face and behind his back. He remembered STRIKE agents muttering about ghost eyes and him having no soul. As it was, the hostile man just shivered, teeth bared in a feral grin. “Did it just get colder in here?” He chuckled as one of the Dora prodded him roughly in the ribs with the butt of her spear.

“You better watch your back, pretty boy,” the man called out, twisting to look at Bucky as he was escorted away. “Don’t forget, you’re the minority here.”

With one last arrogant wink, the man was marched down the hall and out of sight. “Who was that?” Bucky asked Ayo quietly. "No one of importance," the Dora said sharply with hate and pain in her eyes. Bucky wisely decided not to push the subject, even if he didn’t fully understand.

“Thank you,” he said once returning to his rooms. “I've...been rude to you. It was not intentional.” The Dora smiled, inclining her head slightly in acknowledgement. “No such slight was perceived,” she said graciously. “Have a good night, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky, please,” he insisted. “As you say,” she said with a smile.

He closed the door behind him, taking a breath. The title of Sergeant made him feel uneasy these days. That title belonged to a person who no longer existed. There was nothing left of Sergeant Barnes, nothing but a hollow shell.

He found food laid out on the kitchen counter as always but he didn’t have an appetite at the moment. He settled crosslegged on the ground in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows in the bedroom, curled in the nest of blankets he’d made for himself with his back against the side of the bed, and watched as the sun slowly tracked across the sky.

And if he heard a strange scrabbling noise from outside the window as the sun began to dip below the horizon, he paid it no mind. It was probably just a bird.

  
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“What’s the verdict, doc?” Erik drawled as he watched the young princess manipulate the hologram display of his injury. She said nothing, staring daggers at him. He couldn’t help but chuckle. He glanced over his shoulder, passing over the warriors that ringed around him before meeting the eyes of one of the Dora he had fought personally. “It’s like you people don’t trust me or something’,” he said, baring his teeth in a vicious grin.

“What possibly gave you that idea,” Shuri muttered under her breath. “Oh come on, Princess,” Erik chuckled, turning back to the girl. “You can’t still be mad about what happened on the tarmac.”

“You tried to kill me,” she said sharply, eyes blazing with anger. “And yet here you are, still breathin’,” he drawled. “No thanks to you,” Shuri snapped. Erik surged forward, prompting the Dora to shift forward defensively, muscles tense and spears raised. “There’s still time to get it right,” he growled softly.

A small flicker of fear glimmered in the girl’s eyes before rage overrode it. Her hand snapped shut, dispersing the hologram. “You’ll live,” she said tersely. “Now go away. I’m bored with you.” Erik just chuckled, happy to have rattled the young girl’s composure.

He didn’t bother to make a fuss as the Dora escorted him back to his chambers. He did nothing more than smirk as they removed the cuffs and locked him securely in his rooms. Only then did his smirk pull into a full grin and he spat out the small paperclip he’d managed to swipe from the lab.

He’d only have seconds before the suite would be swarming by warriors but it’d be enough. After wrapping his hands in strips of torn bedsheet, he made his way to the bathroom. The paperclip he used to jam the locking mechanism of the key _kimoyo_ bead. A sharp twist, a harsh tug, and the bracelet broke away from his wrist.

It instantly began to glow blue. The second it was off his wrist, he flung it out the window. In the next breath he was out the window himself, gripping the slender ledge with finger- and toe-tips. He wedged his wrapped hand into the crack and carefully began scaling the wall. By the time he reached the roof's ledge, his fingers were aching and bloody. With one last grunt, he heaved himself up and onto the roof.

He stood near the edge, blood dripping from his fingers as he looked out over the city and down the valley. The sun was just beginning to dip past the mountains, throwing brilliant oranges and pinks in a stunning display.

What was he doing?

He had nowhere to go. Even if he could make it out of Wakanda, and he wasn’t holding his breath on that, where would he go? What would he do? He had a highly specialized skill set, skills that have no place in any civilized world. His abilities only belonged in back water channels, in the darkest corners of the world. He had no delusions about that.

He had no one. He was well and truly alone.

In one mad moment, Erik contemplated just jumping from the ledge and finishing what his cousin had started. The thought flared and then passed without a fight. Uncomfortable emotions he didn’t want to deal with welled up in his chest and the horizon blurred and danced. He scrubbed a hand angrily across his face.

He remembered his daddy sitting next to him on the tiny cot in his childhood bedroom, telling him fantastical tales of this magical land called Wakanda. How the hills rolled like a green sea up to the foot of mountains so massive that if a man were stood at the bottom, he couldn’t see the top. And the sunsets, glorious sunsets which painted the sky with colours so vibrant they didn’t seem real. He'd promised to show him one day, to make a home for them in the land he loved.

  
Looking over over the valley right now, as it burned bright like the horizon itself was on fire, at the way it sparkled off the buildings and made the city blaze with light, Erik could now understand the pride in which his father had spoken of this land. It hurt, because he knew this place would never feel like a home as his daddy had wished. It could never be a home, not after what he’d done. 

“Just a stupid kid believin’ in fairytales,” he muttered to himself.

 

 

When T’Challa and the Dora Milaje pounded up onto the roof, they found him sitting quietly on the ledge, legs swinging out over open air. He didn’t pay attention to the hushed murmurings behind him, not did he turn to acknowledge the man as he sat beside him.

“You know I could throw you off right here and now. Do it properly this time, make sure the job’s finished,” Erik snarked out of habit, his heart not really in the jab. “I’d like to see you try,” T’Challa said dryly. “Don’t make it sound like a challenge, cuz,” he said with a huffed and humourless chuckle. “Never could resist a challenge.”

They sat in silence for a long time. Erik was painfully aware of the similarity towards the last time they sat and watched a sunset together. T’Challa was the first to break the quiet, reaching into his pocket to pull out another set of _kimoyo_ beads. “Why?” he asked quietly, eyeing the bloody fabric still wrapped around torn hands. Erik shrugged. “Wanted to see if panthers could fly,” he drawled.

There were quiet chirping noises as T’Challa fiddled with the beads, doing something between them and his own set. “You know,” he said matter of factly. “There are easier ways to get to this roof.”

Now Erik looked at him, too shocked to continue his careless facade. T’Challa’s expression gave away nothing as he held up the beads. “These will now give you access to the elevator to the right of your rooms,” he explained. “The beads will not open on any other floor. You attempt to leave on any other floor, the alarm will sound. You leave the roof by any other means than the elevator, the alarm will sound. Is that understood?”

He had just been given more freedom. Limited and nowhere near enough, but it was something. A sign of trust. Erik blinked. “Why?” he asked, caught completely by surprise. T’Challa’s lips twitched, the barest hint of something beyond controlled professionalism slipping through.

“I do not know if panthers can learn to fly,” he said glibly. “But I am interested to see you try.”

Erik barked a sharp laugh, more of an exclamation of irritation rather than humour. The man never ceased to surprise him and it was infuriating. He held out his wrist without another word, letting the other man lock the beads into place.

“I don’t get you, cuz,” he stated, spinning the bracelet idly around his wrist. “I am pretty straight forward once you get to know me,” T’Challa said with a small smile as he got to his feet. “Yeah well, don’t hold your breath on that,” Erik grumbled, staring out down the valley as the sun dipped past the mountains and the sky began to take on a twilight blue tinge.

“Are you coming?” he heard the man ask.

“Naw,” he drawled. “Can’t be having you think we’re all buddy-buddy ’n shit now.”

Truth be told, he missed the stars. He'd spent many nights lying awake during ops in the middle of ass-end nowhere, just staring up at the sky. If they were far enough from civilization, there would be no light pollution and the stars would burn so brightly that galaxies could be seen. Here, in the middle of a city that blazed like a second sun, it wouldn’t be nearly so spectacular. But it would still be something.

T’Challa didn’t say anything else and soft padding footsteps marked his departure. Erik waited until he heard the elevator doors slide shut before he let himself flop back across the hard roof. He stared up into a cloudless sky, seeing the barest twinkle of the first stars just beginning to show against inky blue.

  
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“He is dangerous,” Okoye murmured, close to his ear as the elevator carried them back down from the roof. “And unpredictable.”

“I know,” T’Challa said softly. There was a long moment of quiet, broken only by the gentle hum of the elevator. “Are you sure this is wise, my king?” she asked, in a tone that sounded respectful but T’Challa knew better. It was the Dora’s way of asking if he was feeling right in the head.

“I highly doubt the man will learn to fly, Okoye,” he asked with a chuckle as the elevator doors slide smoothly open and they stepped into the hallway. “That is not my meaning,” she said tersely as they strode back through the palace. “I jest,” he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I do not,” she replied, lips pursed.

T’Challa sighed, turning to face the woman fully. “I know,” he said seriously. “So I ask again,” the Dora said sternly. “Are you sure it is wise to allow that man access to the roof when you extended the same invitation to Sergeant Barnes just this afternoon?”

“Wise?” T’Challa commented as they continued their walk. “I am not sure about wise.” They continued in silence. He could feel the Dora’s eyes on him. Finally he huffed, stopping once again to face the woman. “What?” he sighed. Okoye's eyes were sharp as she met his gaze boldly.

“What is it you hope to accomplish?” she asked incredulously. “Those two have more in common with each other than anyone else in Wakanda,” T’Challa explained.

“Meaning?” Okoye asked shrewdly. “Meaning,” T’Challa explained with a small shrug. “That they will either be very good for each other or they will kill each other.”

 

 

 


	3. "You gotta name, pretty boy?"

_Metal crunched on metal. Pain radiated numbly across his shoulder from the impact but he ignored it. It wasn’t critical. A loud popping noise cracked through the night as rubber exploded under pressure. He shifted his weight to balance the bike, hearing a huge crunching smash behind him._

_His left foot touched down as he spun the bike around and headed back towards the wreckage of the car. The hood was crumpled in on itself, flames licking out from the interior of the engine._

_He took his time._

_He never needed to rush._

_He slid the kickstand out smoothly and strode up to the trunk of the car. The lock snapped easily under his hand, revealing a silver briefcase filled with three IV bags of blue liquid._

_First half of the mission was complete._

_Metal hinges creaked and his eyes snapped up to see a white haired man tumble from the driver’s side door. His hand fisted in short hair, pulling the man up to his knees. Dazed and scared eyes met his, emotions flooding through his target’s face._

_Recognition._

_Disbelief._

_Confusion._

_“Sergeant Barnes?”_

_No hesitation. There never was. One, two and it was all over. The man fell limp from his hand, sprawling out on the dirt road, eyes staring._

_He dragged the man back to the car as easily as a doll, slumping him forward against the steering wheel. His orders were to make it look like an accident. The man was a drunk. There was no reason for anyone to be suspicious._

_The woman in the passenger seat swayed, staring in disbelief as blood trickled down her temple. He could feel her throat constrict under his hand, his grip almost morbidly gentle. He didn’t watch but he could feel the life leave her body underneath his fingers._

_Mission complete._

 

 

Bucky wrenched himself awake, his own screams still echoing in the air. His throat felt raw and when he swallowed, he tasted iron. Muscles trembled and sweat made his hair and clothes stick to his skin.

He gasped, feeling the warm air burn his lungs. His left arm hurt like fire and he clutched his real hand to his shoulder, gritting his teeth. Shuri had explained it as a misfiring of the traumatized nerves, that the interface between them and his prosthetic had been sloppy.

She said she’d fixed it. She said he wouldn’t feel pain like this anymore. He cupped his hand around the stump, trying to make his brain understand that there wasn’t anything there to cause him pain.

A loud banging suddenly reverberated up the wall beside him, startling him enough to clear his head of the imagined pain. “Shut the fuck up!” a harsh voice snapped from the other side of the room, thick with irritation. “Some people are tryin’a sleep around here!”

Bucky frowned. He knew that voice, knew that accent that stood out like a sore thumb in Wakanda. Tall, dark, and murderous seemed to be his next-door neighbour. “Fuck you, asshole,” he muttered angrily.

“I heard that, dipshit!”

“Dry off, schmuck!” he snarled.

His accent and the slang he’d used growing up tended to slip out whenever he was tired or feeling vulnerable. There was a pause. “Schmuck?” he heard muttered softly on the other side of the wall, tone heavy with confusion. “Who the fuck talks like that?” the man snapped in disbelief, rising his voice to be heard clearly through the wall.

Bucky had had enough. He struggled to get up, finding the sheets completely tangled around his legs. He thrashed, feeling trapped. A tearing sound reverberated through the room as the sheets ripped. He scrambled to his feet, struggling to keep his breathing even.

He turned on the shower, turning the spray as hot as it would go to try and burn the aching cold that had settled into his bones, even though the night was warm. He hissed as the scalding water hit damp skin. Breathing through it, he stood under the water until his skin was flushed bright red.

He shrugged on a pair of loose pants, not bothering with a shirt as he strode back through to the living room. The clock blinking on the wall proclaimed it as four in the morning. He sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep now. Not after that dream.

Then he remembered T’Challa’s mention of the roof.

He wasn’t in any mood to read, as the king said he often did but the prospect of fresh air and quiet sounded inviting so he snatched a soft blanket from the back of the couch and strode to the door. The Dora assigned to him for the nightshift got to her feet, eyes wary as he slipped through the door. “Roof,” he said gruffly, slinging the blanket over his left shoulder self consciously as he saw her eyes flick to the scars that lay thick where metal met flesh.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he added, trying not to be rude. She nodded, sympathy in her eyes. Bucky felt his shoulder twitch. He hated the pity.

The elevator doors opened up into a small entrance way with another set of doors leading out onto the roof. The ground was cold under his feet, grounding and reassuringly steady. He took a deep slow breath, feeling the breeze ruffling his hair. The air was warm and smelled vaguely sweet.

He made his way to the edge, looking out over the city as began to glow in the pre-dawn light. Lights twinkled across the valley floor, the dark outline of the hills on either side just visible. A few stars were still visible, the moon bright and just disappearing behind the mountains.

Bucky shrugged the blanket more firmly around his shoulders as he sat with his back up against one of the electrical box-looking structures that dotted around the perimeter of the roof. He took another slow breath, feeling the cool metal seep through the blanket and into his skin.

The sky was beginning to lighten, throwing threads of orange and yellow across the horizon, when the door to the roof clicked open.

Bucky wasn’t sure who he was expecting but the American hadn’t even been close to making the list. The man shuffled out the door, shoulders heavy and eyes downcast. Everything in his body language read tired, a harsh contrast to the swagger the man had displayed before.

The man was half way out the door when he caught on to the fact he wasn’t alone. He froze a moment, eyes surprised before the mask slid into place. Before Bucky’s eyes the man transformed, arrogance and angry confidence oozing from his very skin.

“What’s up, bro?” the man called out as he strode boldly across the roof. Bucky said nothing, watching warily as the American stopped a few feet away. He leaned up against the opposite turret, arms crossed over his broad chest and a challenge in his eyes.

Bucky took a moment to look the man over. There was clearly military training there. The well muscled body was only the first clue, the long sleeved shirt stretched tight over broad shoulders and around hard biceps. There was something else there, however, that went beyond just a typical soldier. It was in the way the man held himself; the slight tension in his muscles, the well-balanced way he walked. There was an edge to him, something that just screamed covert ops or specialist.

This man was dangerous.

“See something you like?” he snapped out, grin sharpening as he watched the assessment. Bucky said nothing. He held the man’s gaze for a beat longer before looking out over the city. The sun was just peaking up over the mountains, bright sunlight glinting off the buildings and reflecting back into his face.

  
“Not very talkative, are you?” the man chuckled, that sharp edge still in his voice. Bucky shrugged his good shoulder, not bothering to look back. “Nothing to say,” he said softly. He may look disinterested but his instincts were on high alert in the presence of what was clearly a predator.

“You got a name, pretty boy?” the man asked.

Again, Bucky said nothing. This only caused the man’s grin to widen, the early morning sun glinting off silver that capped his lower canines. “So what’r you doin’ here, huh? Bit of a strange vacation choice.” Bucky looked away, watching the last of the sun rise about the mountains. “What, you want me to go first? A’ight.” The man clearly liked the sound of his own voice. He chuckled, a guttural sound coming from deep in his chest.

“I tried to kill a king.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped back, finding a smug look on the man’s face. “That got your attention, didn’t it?” he smirked, eyes blatantly challenging. Bucky had had enough. He’d come up here to find some quiet and since he clearly wasn’t going to get it, he might as well leave. He got to his feet, careful to keep the blanket over his metal stump. The man was a blur of movement as his hand wrapped like a vice around Bucky’s bicep.

“Where you goin’?” he murmured, eyes sharp and practically begging Bucky to try something. “Let go,” Bucky said calmly, eyes slowly rising to meet the American’s heated gaze. “Or what?” the man challenged, a dark glee in his eye.

The hand on Bucky’s arm tightened ever so slightly.

From one breath to another, Bucky had twisted up and under the other man’s shoulder. He flipped and rolled, bringing the man with him to end up underneath, chest to back. One of Bucky’s legs pinned an arm while using the American’s own arm to hold him in a chokehold. It was a parody of what Steve had pulled on him in the Helicarrier, something Bucky actively didn’t dwell on.

The man chuckled, albeit a bit strangled sounding. “You got moves, I’ll give you that,” he choked out before rearing up, pulling Bucky with him. He slammed back down, using his weight to crush the breath from Bucky’s lungs and cracking his head off the ground. His hold loosened just a fraction but it was enough for the man to wiggle out of the hold like a cat.

Bucky rolled away instantly, narrowly avoiding a swift kick to the face. He got smoothly to his feet, posturing to keep his left side away from the man. Somehow in the scramble he’d managed to keep hold of the blanket and now adjusted it to hide his metal shoulder joint.

The man bounced on the balls of his feet, that feral smirk still on his face. “I underestimated you,” he grinned, pointing a finger towards Bucky. “I won’t do that again.”

There was enough distance between them that Bucky felt no worry turning his back on the man and making the short distance to the elevator.

“See you ‘round, pretty boy,” he heard called after him.

The last thing Bucky saw was the man’s smirking face, silhouetted against the morning sun.

 

 

“Who’s the American?” he asked Shuri as she bustled around the lab. The girl froze, hands in the middle of manipulating a model of one of Bucky’s brain scan. “What?” she asked, eyes sharp as they look at him through the transparent hologram. “Ran into him on the roof,” he explained. “Said he tried to kill a king.”

Shuri physically flinched at the words, lowering her hands. “Sorry,” he said, trying to backpedal. “It’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine,” she said softly, rounding the work station and sat down on the bed beside Bucky. “Erik is my cousin,” Shuri sighed. She chuckled humourlessly at Bucky’s raised eyebrows. “You can’t choose your family,” she said bitterly. “My uncle was a War Dog, one of our undercover operatives in America,” she explained. “He betrayed my father and he….my father was forced to kill him. He didn’t know his brother had a son.”

She paused, taking a shaky breath. Bucky swallowed thickly. “He almost destroyed everything,” Shuri breathed, eyes shining. “Challenged T’Challa in ritual combat. We thought he’d killed him. He took the throne, turned the tribes against each other, almost started a world war.” She cleared her throat abruptly, sniffing sharply. “Small time stuff, you know?” she said with a watery chuckle, struggling to pull herself together.

“Why is he still here?” Bucky wanted to know. _‘Alive and walking about’_ went unsaid. Shuri snorted rudely. “My brother is far too forgiving for his own good,” she said bitterly, scrubbing her nose on her sleeve. Bucky acted on instinct, slinging an arm around the girl’s shoulders and pulling her against his chest. He remembered holding a little girl with bright blue eyes in this exact same way.

 _Rebecca_ , his mind supplied.

His sister.

After a moment, Shuri pulled away, eyes dry and a small smile on her lips. “You are a good man, Sergeant Barnes,” she said warmly. “Bucky,” she corrected herself when he opened his mouth to do just that. He chuckled, returning her smile. “Now,” she said brightly, hopping down and striding back to the workstation. “Let’s get to work shall we?”

  
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Erik was exhausted. Once again he’d been woken up at the ass-crack of dawn by his neighbour’s screams. Whoever the man was had some serious issues.

“Schmuck?” he muttered, barely believing what he had just heard. “Who the fuck talks like that?” he called out but there was no answer. “Christ,” he muttered, flopping back down onto the bed.

He tossed and turned for another hour or so but sleep was illusive so he just got up. He pulled on a long shirt and soft pants before padding out into the hallway. “ ‘Sup?” he said to the Dora warriors standing guard by his door. They watched him with a wary eye as he padded across the hall to the elevator.

He wasn’t expecting to find anyone up there, not this early and especially not the long haired white boy he’d run into briefly before. He grinned sharply as he made his way across the roof, seeing the man’s eyes on him.

“What’s up, bro?” he called out, lounging a few feet from the stranger.

Erik looked him over, assessing. Long dark hair hung in soft locks around the man’s face, jaw brushed with a close-shaved scruff. Brilliant blue eyes the same colour as arctic ice and just as cold stared up at him. He clocked the way the man’s left shoulder slumped sharply, the lack of definition underneath the blanket.

There was something naggingly familiar about that face.

He’d bet money on the man being a vet of some kind. It was in the way he was looking him over, calculating. There was a slight tension held in those well-defined muscles and something in the eyes too, something that told Erik they’d seen too much.

The man was so quiet. Erik couldn’t help but try and get a rise from him, just to see if he could.

“I tried to kill a king.”

That got a reaction and he felt a thrum of satisfaction. Yet it still wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough to satisfy Erik’s morbid curiosity. That was why he grabbed the man when he tried to leave. There was something lurking under that silent act, something dangerous. Erik wanted to see if he could dig it up to the surface.

“Let go,” the man said softly, ice in his voice and in his eyes.

“Or what?” Erik challenged, tightening his grip on the man’s well defined bicep. Even with the muscles and clear military training, Erik hadn’t expected to be so easily flipped on his ass. He got out of the hold without too much difficulty, feeling his muscles thrum with excitement. Adrenaline pounded through his body, sharpening his reflexes and his attention.

“I underestimated you,” he said with a breathy chuckle after the man had easily dodge his kick. He pointed an accusatory finger. He was a little miffed that the man had been able to pin him so easily and with one arm at that but respect for the stranger’s abilities won out. Erik had a feeling he had just scratched the surface and he itched to discover more.

“I won’t do that again,” he promised.

The man clearly didn’t want to fight. He was confident enough, or stupid enough, to turn his back on Erik as he made his way to the elevator. “See you ‘round, pretty boy,” he called out, grinning like a shark as the elevators closed between them.

 

  
Erik couldn’t get the man out of his head for the next few days after their rooftop encounter. Curiosity burned under his skin and he itched to fight the man properly. Pitting his abilities against someone as highly skilled was an intoxicating prospect. Erik had an inkling that if the man was at full strength and with all his limbs, he might even be better than the former Navy Seal.

He got his chance to ask after the man the next time his cousin came to visit. Erik had since decided to give up the angry routine, even though it bubbled and burned deep in his chest. It had gotten him nowhere so Erik decided to play the good little prisoner card instead. This was part of his skill set anyways.

Infiltration, extraction of information, destabilization. He could play the long game.

T’Challa had been there for a while, asking questions to which Erik replied sarcastically, not even bothering to look up from his video game. He’d never been much into video games. When he was a kid, there had never been enough money. Erik never had gotten into those first person shooter games all the other guys in his unit played. He preferred the real thing. Although he had to admit, this Mario Kart wasn’t half bad.

“So whose the American pretty boy?” he asked suddenly.

“Who?” T’Challa asked. Erik cursed as he accidentally drove off the rainbow road. He huffed in frustration and craned his neck backwards over the couch to look at his cousin.

“Long hair, one arm, eyes colder than the fuckin’ Arctic circle,” he explained.

“Ah,” the man said, rounding the corner of the couch. “He is a guest here,” he said cryptically. “Why?” Erik prodded as he restarted the game. “He was injured and in need of our help.” Erik snorted, swerving to avoid a blue shell thrown by one of the automated players. “You making a habit of fixing up broken white boys, cuz?” he snarked, remembering when he shot one of his former CIA handlers in the back. He knew Ross had been taken back to Wakanda, their superior medical technology saving his legs and his life.

“We do what we can,” was the man’s cryptic reply. “Yeah, and what about the lunatic you stuck in the suite next to me?” he asked, cursing as he was blown off the road once again. He tossed the controller aside, looking across to his cousin. There was a strange look in T’Challa’s eye that he couldn’t place. “He’s in need of our help as well,” the man said slowly.

“Yeah well, he needs to get his head examined,” Erik grumbled, shoving up off the couch. He could feel the man’s eyes following him as he stalked into the kitchen. “Don’t you have somethin’ better to do?” he asked, digging around the fridge. “No kingly business more pressing than visiting your regicidal cousin?”  
  
T’Challa heaved a long suffering sigh. Erik just took a bite of the plumb, baring stained teeth. “If you want me to leave, all you have to do is ask,” the older man said as he made his way to the door. “And if I asked you not to come back?” Erik asked sharply. T’Challa just gave him a sad look. “No man is an island,” he said finally. “And the wolf needs the pack to survive.”

“What, you some sort of philosopher now?” he called out after him but the only answer he got was the door clicking shut.

  
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“Bucky? Bucky, can you hear me?”

He blinked sluggishly, Shuri’s face swimming into view. Everything tilted as the table he was strapped to rose slowly. He swallowed down the panic that threatened to rise up and strangle him. It was an all too familiar feeling. Rationally, he knew he’d insisted on the restraints but he couldn’t help the way his body reacted. A hand placed itself on his forearm and he looked up to see T’Challa standing to his other side.

“Just breathe, Sergeant. You are safe,” he said soothingly as the cuffs released and he and Shuri helped Bucky to stand. He blinked owlishly up into two sets of very worried eyes. “I keep telling you to call me Bucky,” he rasped. Relief flooded into their faces and T’Challa’s face split into a grin.

“Did it work?” he asked as they helped him to a nearby chair.

Shuri had explained the procedure to him that morning, wanting to make sure he was fully aware of what was going to happen. Basically, if he remembered correctly, she had developed an algorithm that would target the memories which held the greatest control over his physical actions. More specifically, it would target the trigger words that instantly removed any and all control Bucky had over his own actions whenever spoken aloud.

She’d told him that it would be a difficult procedure and that it may take more than one session to completely destroy the control the words had over his mind. “The tricky part,” she had explained. “Is that we don’t want to remove everything. We don’t want to just make you forget. We want you to be able to stay in control.”

For that, Bucky would be eternally grateful.

“How do you feel?” Shuri asked. “Shaky,” he replied, willing his muscles to stop trembling. “Did it work?” he asked again. “We won’t know until we test it,” she said carefully. Bucky swallowed thickly. “You mean the words,” he said softly. “Yes,” she said reluctantly. “It is the only way to know for sure.” He nodded, raking his hair back out of his face with shaky fingers. It made sense. They had to know for sure or all of this would be for nothing.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath.

“We won’t do it now,” T’Challa stated, placing a steadying hand on his good shoulder. “You need time to recover.” Shuri nodded in agreement. As much as Bucky just wanted to get it over with, he was glad he wouldn't have to be subjected to that particular ordeal just yet.

“Come,” T’Challa said, helping Bucky to stand and guiding him towards the door. “You have been cooped up in the palace for far too long.” Bucky blinked. “Where are we going?”

“It’s time for you to experience Wakanda properly,” the king said with a grin, slinging an arm around Shuri’s shoulders.

 

The market place was bright and alive with colour as sounds and smells assaulted the senses. Store fronts boasted everything from hand woven baskets to futuristic technology that looked straight out of a sci-fi novel. Walls were richly painted with bright murals. Vines and greenery covered roofs and spilled from balconies. Noise was a constant blanket over everything, people talking and bartering overlapping with the sounds of food being cooked and machines being operated.

Trams and carts that hovered inches from the ground wove through the crowds and children darted about, getting into mischief. “Close your mouth, white boy,” Shuri teased, prodding Bucky in the ribs as he tried to take everything in. “Here, try this,” she said, handing him a skewer of chucks of meat.

“Close my mouth, open my mouth. Make up your mind, Princess,” he grumbled, tone teasing. Shuri just rolled her eyes. Bucky grinned and took a bite, grease dripping over his fingers as rich spicy flavours exploded on his tongue. It was delicious.

“And this,” she said, snatching away the skewer and pressing a mug of something sweet smelling into his hand. Where she was getting any of this from, Bucky had no idea but he wasn’t complaining. The drink was delicious, fruity and fresh and tasting vaguely of mint.

“Shuri, let the man breathe,” T’Challa scolded even as his eyes danced with laughter. The young princess only response was to stick out her tongue and disappear back into the crowd, her Dora guard slipping easily after her.

“She’s a force of nature,” Bucky mused as he and T’Challa strolled along at a much more leisurely pace. “She surprises me every day,” the man said with a fond smile. “She has accomplished so much at such a young age. I can’t wait to see what she will have done by the time she’s our age.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky chuckled.

“True enough, my friend,” T’Challa agreed with a gentle chuckle. Shuri materialized back out of crowd by Bucky’s elbow, a gaggle of children dancing around her. The second they saw Bucky their eyes lit up and they swarmed him, chanting something over and over again that he didn’t understand.

Shuri watched for a moment, eyes shinning before coming to shoo the children on their way. “What were they saying?” he asked curiously, looking from Shuri to T’Challa. The siblings exchanged a knowing look, making him feel slightly uneasy. “It’s something the children started calling you when you first arrive,” Shuri explained. “And it stuck.” It explained half of it but not enough.

“It means _White Wolf,_ ” T’Challa said with a smile.

“And this means strength,” Shuri explained as she stepped up before him and slipped something around his neck because Bucky could fully process what T’Challa had just told him. He glanced down. A smooth polished stone pendant hung from a long braided cord. He picked it up, fingers feeling the gentle grooved that had been carved into the face, white paint tracing the graceful symbol.

“It is the mark of a warrior,” she added.

“Thanks,” he said softly, a swell of so many emotions threatening to overwhelm him. A slim arm wrapped around his torso, squeezing gently. “Come,” T’Challa said with a gentle smile. “If you have not tried Junai’s pastries, you have not truly experienced Wakanda.”

Bucky smiled, slinging his arm heavily across Shuri’s as he let them lead him through the crowd. He never thought he’d feel true peace ever again but this was coming pretty damn close.

 

  
It was late afternoon by the time they returned to the palace. T’Challa slipped away, sighting official duties and Shuri managed to wrangle Bucky into a game that was basically hologram bowling. The sun was low and his stomach rumbling by the end of it. In response, Shuri dragged him down to the kitchens to beg food.

He got many surprised looks and quiet murmurings of _‘White Wolf’_ as he followed the Princess through to the head chef who gave her a basket of food with a patient smile. The girl laid out a fantastic spread in the lab, where Ayo and Shuri’s personal Dora guard joined them for dinner.

“Just a quick detour,” he said to Ayo, taking a left on the way back to his quarters as opposed to a right. The Dora gave him a knowing smile and fell into step beside him easily as they climbed the stairs up to the library.

He found Lu’zani on one of the narrow walkways, re-shelving books from a narrow little cart. “Hello,” he said politely, brushing his fingers over one of his _kimoyo_ beads to activate the translation function. The woman looked up at him, smiling a toothy grin. She tapped a gnarled finger lightly on the pendant around his neck.

Two words rolled from her tongue and Bucky didn’t need a translation bead to tell him what they meant anymore but all the same, the lilting robotic voice echoed from the woman’s wrist.

_“White Wolf.”_

Lu’zani laughed as Bucky flushed.  _“What are you looking for?”_ she asked, a twinkle in her eye. “I want to learn Wakandan,” he said. “I was hoping you could help me.” The woman’s eyes widened in surprise and she smiled brightly.

If Ayo had any opinion on the titles of the stack of books Bucky carried out of the library, she kept it to herself but Bucky thought there was a glint of approval in her eye.

He’d always having been gifted with languages. He had learned Italian from his next-door neighbour in Brooklyn and picked up bits of Irish from the men down at the pubs. He became fluent in French because of Dernier and Jones while serving with the Howling Commandoes and learned enough German during the war to get by in most situations. Russian had come later, once Zola and HYDRA had their claws in him.

Bucky read long into the night, read until his eyes began to blur, absorbing the information like a sponge. He read until he couldn’t physically keep reading and couldn’t stop yawning. Hopefully after such a long day, he’d have a sleep undisturbed by any unpleasantness.

  
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_Blood stained his fingers like paint._

_It dyed his already dark sleeves darker. It seeped out across the hardwood, filling in the cracks. It felt like he was moving through mud, the air in his lungs thick and heavy._

_His hands were so small. Too small._

_“Daddy?”_

_In a whirlwind of purple clouds, the dream changed._

_He was sitting across from him now, an exact duplication of the fever dream caused by the heart-shaped herb. Purple clouds swirled outside of the windows, obscuring the normal city view. The man before him smiled but it did not reach his eyes._

_“What did you find?”_

_A home._

_That was what he had said the last time he was here, but it wasn’t true. This place was never his home and never would be. Never could be. The ring hung heavy around his neck, the chain cold on his skin._

_“They say you are lost,” his father said, eyes sad._

_“But I’m right here,” he whispered, throat tight. “Are you lost, my son?” his father asked like he hadn’t heard him. “I’m right here,” he said, voice stronger even as his hands trembled around the book that had once held so many wondrous secrets but now only held lies and false promises._

_“Where are you, N’Jadaka?”_

_“I’m right here!” he screamed and the dream shattered._

 

 

Erik’s eyes snapped open.

He’d long given up the hope for a restful night between his neighbours nightmares and his own dreams. This time though, something was different. He lay still but could hear nothing out of the ordinary. No echoing cries, to hair-curling screams. Nothing.

Just silence.

He frowned, unsure of what could have woken him and then he heard it. The softest of whimpers. He froze, not even sure he’d heard anything. Then there it was again. It was coming from behind the wall. Erik sat up, listening closely.

“Three two five…five.”

Numbers? Was he hearing numbers?

“Seven zero…three…eight.” The rest was just unintelligible murmuring and whimpers but he could clearly hear a series of numbers being repeated over and over again. Then the word _“Sergeant,”_ rose clearly from the rest of the mumbling. So the screaming man _was_ military. That could make what he was hearing a service number. Eight digits would make him Army or possibly Air Force.

A choked cry reverberated through the walls, grating on Erik’s nerves. “Jesus,” he muttered, banging his head back against the wall. The man sounded like he was being tortured. Another cry, sounding like it was being dragged through clenched teeth, was what finally pushed Erik over the edge. He banged on the wall with a closed fist, loud and sharp.

It got very quiet very quickly.

Erik waited, leaning back against the wall. Still, he heard nothing. He banged on the wall again, albeit far more gently. “You awake now?” he called out. Silence was his only answer. Erik waiting a long moment before banging again. “Yo, you alive over there, bro?”

“Yeah,” was the soft, rasping reply barely heard through the painted plaster.

“Man, how do you still have a voice after doing this every night?” he asked. There was a pause and he thought the mystery man had taken offence but then the soft voice trickled through the wall. “Daily practise.”

“A’ight,” Erik chuckled. “At least you still got a sense of humour.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” the sarcastic reply came through the wall. Erik waited but the man said nothing more and he had nothing else to add. He glanced over at the clock. Three in the morning. He grimaced and threw back the covers. No sense laying around in bed waiting for a sleep that wouldn’t come. He was awake now and nothing was gonna change that.

A quick glance out the window showed a cloudless night so he pulled on some pants and snatched up a blanket, making his way up to the roof. The stars were out in force, if slightly dim because of the light of the city. He tossed down the blanket and sprawled out on his back. It was peaceful up here, high above the soft hum of the city. The night breeze was cool on his bare chest, rolling down the valley from the mountains.

It wasn’t long before the door creaked open and none other than the one-armed man strode out onto the roof. Erik felt his lips pull into a grin as the man froze halfway out the door.

“Relax, pretty boy,” he called out, pillowing his hands behind his head. “I ain’t gonna start nothin’.”

Slowly the long haired man made his way over, a blanket wrapped firmly around his shoulders. He paused by the edge of Erik’s blanket, clearly unsure. “Chill,” he chuckled. “I don’t bite,” Erik drawled, baring his teeth in a sharp grin. “Much.”

The man rolled his eyes but folded his legs gracefully underneath him and sat on the edge of the blanket. “Couldn’t sleep?” the man asked softly. “I got a shitty neighbour. Keeps waking me up,” Erik said, staring up at the sky. If he’d been looking down, he would have seen the man flinch. As it was he just shrugged. “Once I’m awake, there’s no fallin’ back to sleep.”

“I know the feeling,” the other man muttered. “Army right?” Erik asked. “Was,” the man said with a sigh, staring out down the valley. “You lose it in the service?” he asked, pointing with his elbow to the man’s left side. “Something like that,” he replied, glancing down at where the blanket hung limply from the highest point of his shoulder. He shifted the blanket higher up but in doing so, it slipped back off the side for a moment.

A flash of silver gleamed in the moonlight.

Then it hit him.

“Holy shit, I know who you are,” he breathed, finally realizing why the man had looked so familiar. His face had been plastered on every single newspaper around the globe two years ago. The man froze, his cold eyes snapping up to meet Erik’s disbelieving gaze.

“Holy fucking shit,” Erik said, sitting up. “The Winter Soldier, in the flesh. Yo, every single man on my squad knew about you. You’re a fuckin’ legend.” Wary eyes stared into his. He could practically feel the tension radiating from the man. “Not a soldier anymore,” the man said stiffly.

“Yeah, that’s a shit deal you had there,” Erik admitted, knowing only what he’d read in the the papers, about what had happened to one Bucky Barnes after falling from a train in 1945. How HYDRA had experimented on him while he was captured two years prior, how they brainwashed him and forced him to become the Asset known as The Winter Soldier.

  
“That why you’re here?” he asked. “Princess gonna remove all that shit they stuck in your head?” The man said nothing, calmly looking Erick over. He felt like he was being weighed and judged by that cold calculating stare.

“She told me what you did,” he said finally.

“What of it?” Erik growled, flushing as the man caught him off guard.

Ice blue eyes glanced over the scars that decorated his chest and arms, lingering on the thick ropey one that traced down his sternum. “Go on, ask,” he drawled with a smirk, cracking his neck. “I know you wanna.”

The man didn’t, so Erik volunteered the information. “Every one is for a kill,” he boasted, rolling and flexing his arms. He never told people the real reason behind the scars. Let them think that it was nothing more than a kill count. It was scarier that way, better for his reputation.

If he was hoping for a reaction, he was going to be disappointed. Nothing chanced in the man’s carefully blank expression, not even a flicker or a flinch. “You even remember how many you dropped?” he asked cruelly, grin sharp and biting.

“I remember all of them,” the man murmured.

Erik forced down a shiver. The ghost-like look in the man’s eyes was completely unnerving, even to Erik. Without another word, the Soldier who wasn’t a soldier anymore stood and made his way back to the elevators. Erik did nothing but watch, unable to come up with anything to say.

  
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“Deep breath,” Shuri said encouragingly, holding a hand out for the piece of paper clutched in Bucky’s hands. It had taken him hours to write down the the words, once in English and once in Russian. By the end his hand was shaking so badly he could barely keep his writing legible.

Finally he let go, allowing the young girl to take the paper. T’Challa placed a comforting hand on his shoulder while Shuri imputed the words into the computers. “Right,” she said. “Everything is ready. Are you?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Bucky said behind a tight lipped smile. Shuri nodded, giving him an encouraging smile as she guided him down into the reclining chair. Bucky swallowed thickly as the thick cuffs clamped down around his wrist, ankles, and chest.

“You alright?” she asked gently. “Okay,” she murmured at his stiff nod. “Here we go.” She gestured something at the hologram that bloomed from her _kimoyo_ beads. A robotic voice echoed through the lab in perfectly accented Russian.

“желание.” _Longing._

Bucky took a slow measured breath. In and out. Slow and steady.

“ржaвый.” _Rusted._

In and out. Slow and….steady.

“Семнадцать.” _Seventeen._

His lips trembled as he took a shaky breath.

“Рассвет.” _Daybreak._

He swallowed thickly, mouth gone suddenly dry.

“Печь.” _Furnace._

His hand clenched into a fist. His left shoulder ached, a burning sensation that spread slowly out and down an arm that was no longer there.

“Девять.” _Nine._

His breath dragged in ragged pants from deep within his chest. Something wasn’t right. “Stop,” he said but his voice didn’t work and his lips moved without a sound.

“добросердечный.” _Benign._

His head slammed back against the headrest, muscles trembling uncontrollably against the restraints. Pain lanced hot across his temples and he clenched his eyes shut against it, teeth grinding.

“возвращение на родину.” _Homecoming._

He could feel himself slipping away. Try as he might, he couldn’t hold on. The pain was too intense. “Something’s wrong,” he heard someone say.

“Один.” _One._

A guttural scream tore from his throat as the pain in his head overwhelmed everything. “Stop it,” a different voice snapped, deeper than the first. “Stop it now!”

“грузовой вагон.” _Freightcar._

The scream was cut off mid breath, his head lolling forward, his breath stuttering in his chest. Voices murmured around him. A hand touched his arm.

The Winter Soldier opened his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep! Cliff hanger! I gotta say, I'm loving writing for these characters so I hope you're all enjoying reading it just as much! xx


	4. A Very Deadly Dance.

  
“Yo, for real? Again?” Erik huffed, staring daggers at the Dora Milaje warriors. “I have my orders to bring you to the lab,” the forefront most warrior said stiffly, the one holding the vibranium cuffs. “To make sure you have not tampered with your _kimoyo_ beads again.” Erik let out a growling breath but didn’t complain further and allowed the Dora to restrain him and escort him through the hallways towards the lab.

They were just entering the lab when he heard Shuri’s voice, thick with worry. “Something’s wrong,” she said as a robotic voice spoke a word in what sounded like Russian. A guttural scream split the air. Erik winced, the Dora around him suddenly on high alert.

Stop it,” Erik heard T’Challa as he rounded the corner before his guard could catch him. "Stop it now!” Erik’s mouth fell open, pulling up short at the sight that greeted him. Shuri and T’Challa stood beside one of the workstation, set in front of a reclining chair.

Strapped into that chair was the Winter Soldier.

The man’s body was rigid, muscles trembling and eyes clenched shut as he screamed. The robotic voice said one last guttural word and the scream suddenly cut off. His head lolled loosely against his chest. “Bucky!” Shuri cried, leaping forward only to run into Okoye who stood as an immovable wall, keeping the girl from getting too close.

“Careful,” she cautioned as T’Challa stepped up next to the seemingly semi-conscious man. “Bucky?” he asked softly. “Bucky, can you hear me?” he said, placing a cautious hand on the man’s forearm. Bright blue eyes snapped open. Even at this distance Erik could see that those weren’t the man’s eyes.

They belonged to someone else.

“Bucky?” T’Challa asked again. The Soldier looked up. They stared at each other for a long moment before his forehead cracked across T’Challa’s face. The man’s head snapped back, sending him stumbling into the work station. Something beeped and the restraints released. The long haired man dropped the few inches to the floor, landing gracefully on the balls of his feet.

“Bucky!” Shuri shrieked. “Get her out of here now!” T’Challa roared and Okoye and three of the Dora dragged the thrashing girl out of the lab. “Sergeant Barnes?” T’Challa said softly as he and the remaining Dora ringed themselves loosely around the man. “Bucky, can you hear me?”

The long-haired man’s eyes slowly shifted to meet the king’s. “I know you’re in there.” The man held out his hand in a placating gesture. “They do not control you anymore,” he said firmly. Something in the other man’s eyes flickered, hesitating. “Bucky?” T’Challa murmured, taking a step forward.  
That was a mistake.

He lashed out so fast that Erik blinked and almost missed it. His foot caught T’Challa square in the chest, sending the man flying. The king smashed through another work station, taking out two Dora along the way. The other guards sprung into action but even with one arm, the man was devastatingly dangerous. Erik’s breath caught in his chest as he watched the fight.

It was like a dance. A very deadly dance.

Although vastly outnumbered, the Soldier was clearly holding his own. Erik was just beginning to enjoy himself when another devastating blow sent T’Challa crashing through the glass windows and plummeting down into the mines.

Then the man’s eyes turned to him.

“Take them off,” he said, holding his cuffed wrists out to the remaining Dora that had stayed at his side. The woman hesitated. “Do it or we’re both gonna die,” he snarled. The long haired man had begun to stalk towards them, steps measured and menacing.

The Vibranium cuffs dropped from his wrists, crashing heavily onto the lab floor.

Erik had an inkling of what the man was like to fight from their brief rooftop encounter but the real thing was even better than he had imagined. There was a scary calm in the way the man fought; eyes hard and focused, moves precise and efficient. He kept Erik on his toes, absorbing a knee to the solar plexus with nothing more than a grunt. In retaliation, a sudden blow to the face had Erik seeing stars.

The man was viciously fast.

Suddenly Erik was airborne. His back slammed hard down onto a table as a hand wrapped around his throat in a crushing grip. Bright eyes stared down at him with no recognition, no emotion, nothing beyond hard determination.  
He grabbed hold of the Soldier’s arm, pinning it down to his chest as his lungs screamed for air. He shifted his hips, bringing his leg up and over the Soldier’s head. He brought his leg down, bringing the man down with it. The Soldier’s back slammed into the table, Erik’s leg across his throat and his arm trapped.

Erik levered his hips up, hearing and feeling the shoulder joint dislocated with a hollow pop. The man let out a pained cry, weight dropping forward as his legs buckled. Erik fell with him, rolling away and to his feet. He rasped a rough cough, dragging in air through his abused throat.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Erik gasped as he watched the other man struggle to his feet. “Just stay down.”

The man’s eyes rolled wildly, arm hanging limply by his side. Erik ducked the kick aimed for his head and slammed a fist into the man’s stomach. He felt the air smash from the man’s lungs as he cracked his fist across the Soldier’s face in the same instant. He blocked the backhanded elbow, twisting the Soldier’s arm up behind his back. The man grunted, pain flashing hot through his cold eyes as bone grated on bone in the out-of-place joint. Erik’s other hand tangled in the long dark hair before slamming the man’s forehead down into the table with an echoing crack.

He crumpled, falling back into Erik’s arms just as T’Challa climbed back in through the window. Erik carefully lowered the unconscious man to the floor, gently cradling his head so it didn’t bounce off the concrete. He could see the spark of surprise in his cousin’s eye as he crouched beside them.

“What the hell was that, cuz?” he asked, rubbing at his bruised throat. “HYDRA conditioned him with trigger words designed to strip him of control over his own actions,” T’Challa explained with a soft sigh. “Shuri thought she’d figured out a way to remove that control. Clearly it didn’t work.”

Erik snorted rudely. “Clearly,” he muttered.

“We need to get him restrained,” T’Challa murmured, watching as others helped the injured from the lab. “The cognitive recalibration should have cleared the word’s control but no sense in taking chances.” He moved to pick the man up but Erik beat him to it. He slipped an arm under knees, another behind shoulders. “Holy shit,” he grumbled as he cradled the former assassin against his chest. “What’s this guy made of, Vibranium?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across T’Challa’s face as he led Erik to an undamaged corner of the lab and pointed to the slab-like table in the middle of the room. Erik laid the Soldier gently along it, watching as T’Challa carefully maneuvered the man’s shoulder back into place before securing his wrist, ankles, hips, and chest with thick Vibranium straps.

A quiet chirping noise prompted T’Challa to check his _kimoyo_ beads. Okoye’s face illuminated in hologram style above his palm. A quick conversation between the two had T’Challa ordering her to keep Shuri away until they knew for sure that the words were no longer in control. Erik was only half listening, his attention focused on the man strapped to the table instead.

The computer display behind him bloomed into life, startling him. “You don’t need to stay,” T’Challa said, studying the holographic readouts. “I think I can take care of myself."

“He threw you through a window,” Erik scoffed. “And yet you beat him,” the man pointed out mildly. “Barely,” Erik admitted softly, albeit reluctantly. T’Challa opened his mouth but another chirp from his wrist interrupted him. “Go,” Erik said, flapping a dismissive hand in his cousin’s face. “Run your country. I got this.” He rolled his eyes as his cousin hesitated. “Seriously, what’re either of us gonna do?” he huffed. “Post your guards, we’ll be fine.”

Something flashed through T’Challa’s eyes, something that was so brief Erik couldn’t figure out what it meant. It almost looked like….satisfaction? “Alright,” the man agreed. “Call me the moment he wakes.”

Erik grunted in acknowledgement and T’Challa took his leave, the soft swish of the lab doors opening and closing announcing his departure. Erik sighed, stepping up to the bed. The man lay as if dead, only the soft rise and fall of his chest telling otherwise. His hair lay splayed out around him, all the white in the lab making him look very pale indeed. Blood stained the corner of his mouth, where Erik’s fist had connected.

Erik threw a quick glance over his shoulder but the lab remained empty. Gently, he used the corner of his sleeve to wipe the blood from the man’s lips. His eyes ghosted over the man’s face, fascinated by the way something so strong could look so delicate at the same time.

He came back to himself with a start, jerking back. “The fuck you doin’?” he muttered under his breath, ignoring the way his chest felt tight, the way his heart was fluttering against the inside of his ribs. He dragged a nearby chair over, throwing himself into it.

Erik stared pointedly at the small blue light on the Vibranium cuffs, pushing away uncomfortable feelings that nagged like an itch he couldn’t scratch, like a pain that wouldn't go away. He ignored the feelings like he’d always had, ever since he was fifteen years old and realized he thought the boy next door had beautiful eyes.

He’d always loved blue eyes.

A low breathy groan slipped from chapped lips as the man’s eyes fluttered open. Erik got to his feet slowly, wary as those bright blue eyes blinked sluggishly. They darted around the room, the man’s breath hitching and muscles tensing before they landed on Erik.

“You know me?” he asked gruffly, watching as the panic slowly drain from those ice blue irises and confusion replaced it. “Your name’s Erik,” he breathed in a raspy tone. “What do you remember?” Erik asked. The Soldier, no, not the Soldier anymore. This was someone different.

This was the man he’d met on the roof.

Barnes’ muscles, because in Erik’s head thinking of him as _Bucky_ was too weird, bunched against the restraints and he stared down at them, brow furrowed. “I don’t—,” he began, voice trailing off as he took in the ruined lab. His breath hitched and realization flooded into his eyes.

“What did I do?”

“Threw the king through a window, among other things,” Erik stated. Barnes’ jaw muscles bunched and twitched as he swallowed thickly. “Did I kill anyone?” he asked in a small voice. “No,” Erik said as he moved to the work station. A flick of his hand released the cuffs and straps that held James down.

“I’ll let them know you’re awake,” he said as the other man sat up, gingerly rolling his wrist. “Don’t,” the other man snapped sharply, a sliver of ice slipping back into his eyes. Erik paused. Barnes’ looked away, his long hair falling forward to obscure his face. “Please,” he said softly, hand clenched into a fist in his lap. Erik paused, fingers hovering over the interface’s controls.

“Okay,” he said, surprising himself. “Go.”

Barnes was certainly surprised. His gaze snapped up to meet Erik’s, eyes wide and more than a little wary. “I get it. Just go,” he continued, understanding better than most the desire to hide. The man still didn’t move, his eyes flicking to the frosted door where the outline of the Dora guards could be seen.

Rationally, Erik had no reason to do what he was about to do. If he’d stopped to think about it, he’d have kicked himself for being so soft. He didn’t owe the man anything. As it was, he just acted. Stupid, really.

“You better hurry,” Erik called out as he strode over to the broken window. He turned, meeting James’ eyes with a smirk. “They’ve got a quick response time.” He braced himself and then stuck his wrist out through the shattered window.

One of the beads began to glow. A breath later and Erik’s body spasmed as volts of electricity coursed hot through his body. His muscles twitched and convulsed as he fell to his knees, teeth grinding.

Feet pounded against the ground. The shocks stopped and he gasped in relief as he was shoved roughly to the ground. His arms were pinned behind his back and a spear tip pressed against the base of his neck. Erik grinned even as his shoulders ached and his muscles trembled with aftershocks. Looking through legs and booted feet, he could see the lab bed was empty.

 

  
The slap that cracked across his cheek stung but Erik did nothing more than blink at the furious girl standing before him. “What the hell were you thinking?” Shuri shrieked. “You just let him go? After what just happened? He needs to be monitored, he needs to be—,”

“To be poked and prodded and studied?” Erik interrupted, enjoying the way the Princesses face twisted in fury. “What, you no better than those who had him before?” He saw the second slap coming and this time he didn’t let it land. He caught Shuri’s wrist easily, yanking her closer. Her Dora guard stepped forward in alarm, but Erik saw in his periphery that T’Challa waved them down. Interesting.

“You get one,” he hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. A flicker of fear danced in the girl’s eyes but her jaw was set mulishly, hands clenched into fists. She tried to pull away but Erik didn’t let her.

“You think the best thing for him right now to sit in a lab, bein’ poked at prodded at? After what just happened? After what he just did?” he snarled. He felt the girl flinch and freeze. “Erik,” he heard T’Challa caution in a low and stern tone. This time when Shuri pulled away, he let her.

“Why _did_ you let him go?” T’Challa asked quietly as Erik stalked past on his way to the door. The reason wasn’t something Erik would ever admit to and brushed past his cousin without another word.  
  
It had been the look in the man’s eyes, the slight tremble of his lower lip, the way his muscles had held so much nervous tension Erik was surprised something hadn’t snapped.

Besides, he’d asked him to.

  
  
><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

 

  
Bucky slipped quietly through the halls, sticking to the shadows and hiding away behind corners. He didn’t stop to think, he just booked it straight to the roof. Striding right out to the edge, he sat down hard, legs out over open air.

He let his head hang as he focused on his breathing. Pain pounded heavy on his temples. His muscles wouldn’t stop trembling and his brain was in survival mode. He knew it rationally but he didn’t know how to snap himself out of it.

It had happened again.

He wanted to run. He’d run before. It was easy. Even with one arm, he’d be able to slip the _kimoyo_ beads and get out of the city. Steals some clothes, steal a ship and then dump it a few hundred klicks from whatever small city was closest. Then he’d disappear.

Bucky dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his mind. He was still dangerous. The words, the programming, all the shit HYDRA had shoved in his head, it was still there. Bucky had told them not to take him from cryosleep until they knew how to fix him. They didn’t listen and look what happened. Look what fucking happened.

He had to go back on ice. It was the only way.

He brought his legs to his chest, pressing his eyes again his knees. He heard the gentle sound of the door opening and soft footsteps crossing the ground. He swallowed thickly as Ayo gracefully folded her long limbs and sat next to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the soft bruising tones dancing across her temple and cheek. “Ayo, I—,” he began but she cut him off swiftly. “The next words from your mouth will not be an apology, otherwise I will throw you off this roof.” Bucky swallowed his next words, unable to share in the gentle teasing. “It was not your fault,” she said gently. “They do not blame you, nor do I.” Bucky flinched. “I know,” he said, clenching his hand into a tight fist. That was part of the problem. Everyone was always telling him it wasn’t his fault but he just kept on hurting people.

“I need to go back on ice,” he said softly. “I can’t…this can’t happen again.”

She sat quietly with him for a long while before taking her leave, pausing to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. “If you truly wish to, no one will stop you,” she said softly, like she could read his mind. “But I hope you choose to stay.”

 

 

Whoever cleaned his rooms hadn’t taken offence to him sleeping on the floor. Instead they’d rolled out a thin mattress and had taken to making his bed on the floor. Bucky lay atop the covers, staring at the ceiling for hours and trying not to fall asleep.

He didn’t want to dream.

If he dreamed, he’d scream and if he did that than he’d wake his neighbour. Bucky had no idea how Erik hadn’t connected the dots yet, thinking Bucky and the screaming man were two different people, but he wanted it to stay that way.

He tried to stay awake.

He really did.

 

  
_The blows just kept coming._

_There was no let up, no reprieve. He did his best to protect himself as best he could. He curled his knees into his chest and covered his face and head with his arms._

_It didn’t seem to matter._

_A heavy boot cracked across his low back and he arched away from it on instinct. A baton to the belly smashed the air from his lungs. The next blow broke ribs. He heard them crack like dry twigs._

_“Genug!”_

_Bucky lay on his side, mouth open and gasping. Every little movement hurt. Just trying to breathe was hell. Fire raced across his ribs and chest with every attempt to drag air back into his body. He curled his left hand carefully to his chest, where the stomping heel of a polished black boot had broken at least two fingers._

_“Aufstehen!”_

_Bucky knew that word. He’d heard it many times in the weeks since he’d been taken prisoner. He just couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t listen. All of his concentration was focused on trying to breath as carefully as possible._

_“Aufstehen!!”_

_Nope. Not gonna happen, buddy. Sorry._

_The voice snapped something else and then there were hands on his arms, grabbing at his short hair, pulling him up onto bruised knees. He winced, stifling a groan as bruised and battered muscles protested the treatment._

_The hand in his hair yanked his head back and he blinked blearily up at the blonde middle-aged man with sharp eyes and a cruel smile. The twisted braids on his shoulders boasted two small gold buttons, green material just visible underneath the looping epaulettes._

_Looks like the Colonel had finally had enough of his sass._

_The man said something else, a nasty gleam in his eye before backhanding Bucky sharply across the face. His head whipped to the side and he tasted iron. He smiled, showing bloody teeth then spat on the man’s polished boots._

_The beating began again, this time focusing on his face and chest. He sagged against the arms that held him up as closed fists snapped his head side to side. One final blow to the gut saw him dropped unceremoniously to the ground._

_He gasped but his lunges wouldn’t let him suck air in. His mouth gaped._

_He couldn’t breathe._

_He felt something brush against his leg and he blinked blood from his eyes to look up to the Colonel’s smirking face as he wiped his boot on Bucky’s pants. The same boot swung up towards his jaw and then it all went black._

 

 

The cry that had him flying upright in his makeshift bed was low and choked, like he was running out of air. He hadn’t had that dream since he’d fallen from the train so many years ago. The days after Steve had found him had been awful, but the nights had been worse. His sleep had been plagued by that very dream, among others. Bucky sucked in a breath, feeling it catch and hitch. He couldn’t breathe. He still couldn’t breathe. He jumped about a foot at the banging sound that reverberated up the wall.

He still couldn’t breathe.

The banging was incessant and annoying. Bucky finally grabbed a nearby boot and flung it at the wall. It smacked into the wall with a dull thumb and the banging finally stopped. “You finally awake?” a muffled voice called from the adjacent room.

He still couldn’t breathe.

“You okay in there, bro?” Erik called out. A small part of Bucky’s brain registered that then man’s voice actually sounded concerned. He couldn’t reply. He brought a hand to his chest as he gasped painfully. “Hey, just breathe,” the man told him through the wall. “That’s all you gotta do, man. Just breathe.”

“I….can’t,” Bucky gasped, trying to suck air into lungs that felt bruised and tight. “Yes you can,” was the immediate reply. “Put your head between your knees.” Bucky did as he was told, hand fisting in his long hair.

His fingers ached, the ones that had been broken, and it took him a minute to remember that he didn’t have them anymore. “Slow easy breaths,” Erik continued. “Count to ten with me, a’ight? One. Two. I don’t hear you countin’!”

“T-three,” Bucky whispered. He kept counting, stopping and restarting on the man’s frequent insisting that he couldn’t hear him. Slowly the vice that had gripped his chest loosened. The roaring in his ears slowly disappeared and his breath stopped hitching in his throat.

“How you doin’?” the man asked through the wall. “Okay,” Bucky replied, scrubbing a hand through his long hair to drag it out of his eyes.

“I get ‘em too, bro.”

Bucky started, surprised by the sudden confession. “I never hear you,” he said before he could stop himself. He flushed, snapping his mouth shut. Stupid thing to say. A soft chuckle reached him from the other side of the wall.

“I freeze,” the man confessed with a sigh. “Go ridged all over when I wake up. Even stop breathin’. Survival mechanism, I guess. Spent too much damn time undercover in war zones.” Bucky blinked. This Erik sounded nothing like the confrontational and aggressive man that oozed arrogance and brutality. This Erik sounded different, voice soft and lacking that confrontational edge. This Erik sounded relaxed, tired.

This Erik sounded like he understood.

“You’re military?” Bucky asked, unready to give up the protective anonymity of Erik not knowing who he was. “Was, yeah,” the man replied with a sigh. “Navy Seals. You?”

“Army sniper,” Bucky replied. “Sniper, huh. No shit,” the man chuckled. “How many kills?” Bucky swallowed thickly, bringing his knees up to his chest. He knew. He knew exactly how many.

“Too many,” Bucky said quietly.

“What about you?” he asked, shaking himself loose from the memories of wide eyes and blood on his boots. “You keep track?” He had seen the scars that peppered the man’s chest and arms. He didn’t know the exact number and wondered if the other man even knew anymore.

The room was so silent for so long Bucky started to think the man had left. The rough voice that whispered through the wall was so unlike the confident and brash tone he’d gotten used to with the man. He’d expecting the count to be high but the actual number had his breath catching in his chest like he was having another panic attack.

“Two thousand, three hundred and twelve.”

It was almost unbelievable. He may not remember how many people he’d killed during the war or during his time with the Howling Commandoes but he remembered the rest. He remembered every single target the Winter Soldier had eliminated. That number couldn’t even compare with Erik’s. Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about that number. He wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to feel about it. It didn’t seem real and he had no idea what to say.

“Scared yah off, didn’t I?” he heard Erik chuckle bitterly. His voice was quiet, as if he was talking to himself. He sounded so unsure, so unlike the man from the roof who was cocky and boasting about his kill count. The anonymity given by a simple bedroom wall seemed to strip the man of his own personal walls.

“I’m still here,” Bucky murmured.  
  
He really didn’t know what to make of the man. Everything that Shuri had told him, coupled with Ayo’s reactions and his own experiences with the man should have been enough to make up his mind. It all painted a pretty clear picture.

The man’s attitude was aggressive and hostile, the list of his crimes unforgivable. The vicious light that sparked in his eye when Bucky had fought him on the roof revealed a man who thrived on violence. The scars on his body were testimony enough for that. Bucky should want nothing to do with him.

And yet.

It had been Erik who had been there when he woke from his blackout. Erik who had looked at him no differently than before. Erik who, while not knowing it was Bucky, woke him from nightmares every night with gentle words.

There was a different tone the man used whenever he spoke through the wall, hidden behind anonymity. It was something soft and understanding, maybe a little sad. Bucky had a feeling there was more to the man than met the eye and he wondered how much of the posturing and arrogance was an act.

“I’m Jaime,” he said, using the nickname he’d had when he was very little, back before he became Bucky.

“Erik,” was the quiet reply.

"Why're you here?" Bucky asked curiously. "Doesn't matter," the man said after a moments pause. Bucky heard nothing else from the man for the rest of the night but he stayed up listening, just in case. He wasn’t sure why. It was only in part because he didn’t want to fall back into the grip of the nightmares again but he didn’t know what the other half was.

Or maybe he did but couldn’t quite admit it to himself.

 

  
“Put me back on ice,” was the first thing out of his mouth as soon as he stepped into the lab. “Bucky,” Shuri tried but he wasn’t having it. “No, I was very clear,” he said stiffly, struggling to keep his anger in check under a smooth sheet of ice. “I asked you to keep me on ice until you figured out how to remove what HYDRA put in my head.”

“And I have,” Shuri insisted. Bucky glared and the young princess blanched slightly. “So we had a small setback,” she placated. “But I know why and—,”

“So put me back under until you know for sure it will work,” he bit out through gritted teeth. “Bucky, it would be better if you were awake for the calibrations—,” Shuri began but he interrupted her again. “I could have killed someone,” he growled, fist clenching. “Do you not get that?” Shuri set her jaw, eyes flashing. “We will take more precautions,” she said. “It won’t happen again.” Bucky gritted his teeth. “You can’t guarantee that,” he challenged. “I can,” Shuri countered. “It’s too dangerous,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Bucky,” Shuri called after him but he didn’t look back as he strode from the lab.

Bucky brushed past Ayo, avoiding eye contact as he strode through the halls and into his rooms. He tore the pendant from around his neck, feeling like the cord was trying to choke him. He flung it away, the stone skidding across the floor. His _kimoyo_ beads beeped, one of the beads glowing softly. He twisted his wrist, dispelling Shuri’s call. His wrist beeped again and he tore the beads off with his teeth. He flung them away blindly, just as he had the necklace.

He could have killed someone. He almost did kill someone, he’d thrown the king through a window. He was dangerous, uncontrollable and unstable. Why didn’t they understand that? Bucky didn’t have reliable control over his own actions. This was why he had ran in the first place, ran from DC and Steve.

A soft knock at the door made him start. He ignored it, hoping whoever it was would just go away. They didn’t. The door finally opened with a soft click and a moment later the King of Wakanda sat beside him on the couch.

“It’s too dangerous,” Bucky stated, staring at the wood grains of the floor beneath his feet. “The procedure itself carries risks, of course,” T’Challa replied. “But that isn’t what you meant, is it?” Bucky swallowed thickly. “I’m too dangerous,” he said softly after a long moment.

“Then let us help you,” T’Challa insisted. “So you are dangerous on your own terms and no one else’s.” Bucky turned to look up at the other man, who returned his cold stare calmly. “I threw you through a window,” he said through clenched teeth. T’Challa grinned. “And I threw you off a balcony in Berlin,” he said, humour playing in his eyes. “I’d call it even.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Your body and your skills were used against your will,” T’Challa said quietly. “You are not to blame for that.” Bucky smiled bitterly. “Everyone keeps telling me that,” he stated.

“Then maybe it’s time you started believing it,” T’Challa remarked.

Bucky didn’t have an answer for that but T’Challa didn’t seem to expect one. The man got up without another word and took himself out, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts.

First, he thought of Shuri. The girl who was on the fast track to becoming like a little sister, something Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d missed so much. She was probably kicking herself right about now, pouring over her work to find out why the algorithm didn’t work. She wouldn’t give up until she’d found a way to help him.

He then thought of T’Challa. The man who two years ago had tried to kill him was now risking so much to help him. Now he was advocating to the world for him, trying to help him feel welcome in his home. He had opened his boarders to him, the man he’d once thought had killed his father.

He thought of the others; Lu’zani who seemed to see through all his walls and right to his heart, and Ayo, a calm and quiet presence who he’d come to trust without even realizing it. Strangers who welcomed him and didn’t judge him for his crimes.

He thought of Steve. The man who he’d known for so long, who had believed in him even when Bucky hadn’t known who he was. The man who had defied orders and then entire German army to find him, who had chosen him over his teammates, who was currently in hiding because of him.

He’d be letting them all down if he was to give up now. He had never been one to shy away from a fight. He’d been fighting for and against other people for so long, maybe it was time he started fighting for himself.

It was getting dark by the time he finally stood up from the couch. He crossed the room carefully slipping the abused _kimoyo_ beads back around his wrist. He twisted them, waiting a moment before a small holographic projection of Shuri bloomed above his open palm. She looked at him, clearly bracing herself for whatever he was about to say. Bucky swallowed thickly, jaw muscles twitching.

“Let’s try again,” he said simply.

  
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Erik could barely swallow, his throat was so dry.

Why the fuck had he said that? He’d confessed his kill count to a complete stranger. The words stuck in his throat like ice. He’d never said it out loud. He’d made sure that he counted, burning the numbers into his mind whenever he carved a new notch into his skin. He’d counted and made sure he never forgot but he’d never said it out loud. Until now.

_“Two thousand, three hundred and twelve.”_

He wasn’t sure how he should feel about that. He really didn’t feel much of anything to tell the truth. Just numb. It was such an unreal number. It shouldn’t have been possible and yet it was. No wonder everyone viewed him as a monster. Clearly, the mystery man in the other room thought the same if the silence that had echoed painfully since his unplanned confession.

“Scared yah off, didn’t I?” Erik chuckled bitterly to himself, letting his head fall back against the headboard with a soft thump.

“I’m still here,” a soft voice whispered through the wall.

Erik blinked in surprise. He licked his lips nervously, hating the vulnerable feeling that fluttered in his chest. He bit back a waspish retort, hiding behind anger like he always did. “I’m Jaime,” the man said after a brief hesitation.

“Erik,” he murmured, jaw muscles twitching.

"Why're you here?" Erik flinched. "Doesn't matter," he murmured, swallowing thickly. The man said nothing after that. Erik sat still for a long moment before slipping out of the bed and striding into the living room. He wasn’t running away, he lied to himself. He wasn’t.

The roof was cold under his feet, night air brisk and chilly for a change. A shiver ran through his muscles as he stood by the edge and tried to think of nothing as the sun slowly rose above the mountains.

 

Erik didn’t sleep for the next three days.

He avoided the bedroom like a plague, quietly terrified that the man on the other side of the wall would suddenly change his tune. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d grown almost fond of their nightly encounters. It was nice to talk to someone who understood, at least in a way.

It was a blessed reprieve from Erik’s day to day existence. The anonymity of the wall allowed for a break from the glares and the insults, the hate.

Eventually he wasn’t able to function and tried to sleep on the couch but his body refused to relax. He finally gave up and crawled under the covers in the bedroom. He was out before his head hit the pillow.

 

  
_“Where are you?”_

_Familiar eyes searched his and it made his stomach churn with….guilt? Remorse? Regret? He wasn’t sure but whatever it was he didn’t like it._

_“They say you are lost,” his father said, looking sad. “Are you lost, my son?”_

_“I’m not lost,” he breathed, hands trembling on the pages on the book that was splayed across his knees. “I’m right here.”_

_“N’Jadaka—,”_

_“That’s not my name,” he snapped. He glared across the space at his father, whose gentle sad eyes had not changed at all with his ever growing agitation. The man’s eyes filled, sparkling in the low purple light but it just made him more angry._

_“Where are you, N’Jadaka?”_

_“Shut the fuck up!” he roared._

 

Erik came awake all at once with a painful gasp. The dark room swam into focus, long shadows casting strips of moonlight across the floor. Sweat beaded on his skin and his heart fluttered in his chest. A tentative knock behind him made his head snap back.

“You awake now?” a soft voice drifted through the wall. “Yeah,” Erik rasped, breath heavy. “How did you…,”

“You were breathin’ funny,” the man replied, voice slightly muffled. Erik’s eyebrows shot up. “You could hear me breathin’?” he asked incredulously. “You wanna talk about it?” Jaime asked, instead of acknowledging Erik’s question.

‘No’ was instantly on his tongue but it got stuck behind his teeth. “I dreamed about my father,” he said instead, the words spilling out before he could stop them. He shuffled himself up the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “He was murdered when I was a kid.”

A soft thump directly behind him sounded like the other man was mirroring his own posture. They sat back to back, a wall dividing them, for a long time. “I was the one who found him,” Erik said into the quiet. “Dead on our living room floor.”

He didn’t know why he said that. He never talked of that night, not to anyone, and now he was just spilling his guts to a complete stranger through a bedroom wall. “How old were you?” Jaime asked. “Six,” he replied, swallowing thickly as a muffled curse drifted through the wall.

“My dad was a drunk,” Jaime said softly after a while. “Not a violent drunk,” he added quickly even as Erik’s mind jumped to that conclusion. “He wouldn’t hit us or anything, just…there usually wasn’t any money left after he’d been to the pub. The electricity got shut off in the middle of winter once because he couldn’t pay the bills.”

“Looks like we both got our daddy issues,” Erik snarked softly.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Jaime sighed. “I remember one Christmas he snuck toffies into me and my sister’s shoes while we were asleep.” Erik could feel the nostalgic smile behind the words. “I think that was the best Christmas we ever had.”

“Sounds nice,” Erik murmured.

“Auntie Rosa,” he remembered aloud, picturing the stately Italian woman who lived across the hall from him when he was five and insisted on being called ‘Auntie’. “Damn, she could cook. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much.” A soft chuckle drifted through the wall and Erik found himself smiling too.

They talked until the sun began peaking through the curtains and the city began to wake up.

 

Three weeks passed and the two men fell into a sort of nightly tradition. One would wake the other from some sort of nightmare and then they would talk. They’d talk for hours, about everything. He learned about Jaime’s childhood, bits and pieces of his military service. He spoke a little about his time as a POW but kept details vague and would shut down if Erik pressed for dates or places. Erik learned just not to ask.

In return, Jaime managed to get Erik to talk about things he never had with anyone else. He talked about graduating from MIT, getting assigned to a JSOC squad. He skipped over most of the details, as the majority were still classified, but he talked about what he could.

Erik talked about his first kill and the way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking for three hours after. He talked about the first friend he lost, who bled out in his arms with his limbs in pieces around them from an IED, about how he refused to get close to any of the men he served with after that.

It was comforting in a way Erik had never imagined possible, in a way he would never admit, even to himself.

 

  
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Bucky felt like crying. 

The pain in his head was excruciating, his muscles wouldn’t stop trembling and his breath was coming out in breathy gasps, but he had done it.

He’d stayed in control.

“Still here,” he gasped.

The Vibranium cuffs released with a soft clink and he pitched forward into two sets of waiting arms. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. His head ended up in someone’s lap and there was a weight pressed up against his back. Someone’s hand in his. Soothing voices in his ears. Someone’s fingers combed through his hair.

Slowly he came back to himself. His vision cleared and while pain still pounded across his temples, it was bearable. He rolled over, staring up into two sets of concerned eyes. “Let’s not to that again,” he croaked, pulling smiles from both of them.

“Welcome back, my friend,” T’Challa said, clasping his hand and pulling him up from Shuri’s lap. “I told you,” Shuri crowed, leaping to her feet with a massive grin. Slim arms wrapped around his torso and squeezed. Bucky felt himself laughing and hugging the girl back even as his eyes prickled with unshed tears.

T’Challa clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Would you like me to inform Captain Rogers of the news?” he asked kindly. Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice. “It may take some time to locate him,” the man cautioned. “But rest assured we will find him.”

“We must celebrate!” Shuri said, bouncing up and down. “Perhaps tomorrow,” T’Challa chided, knowing eyes obviously seeing the slight slump of exhaustion in Bucky’s shoulders. “Get some rest, Bucky. And let him do it!” he added with a stern look to Shuri. “You are no fun, brother,” she teased as the man took his leave. “Tomorrow then,” she said, turning to Bucky. “I won’t take no for an answer.” Bucky couldn’t help but smile back at the young girl.

She began to step back but to her surprise, Bucky didn’t let her. He pulled her into a tight one-armed embrace, tucking her against his shoulder. “Thank you,” he breathed. Arms wrapped back around his middle, holding him tight. Bucky’s breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes against the burning sensation that prickled at the corners. Shuri said nothing, just held him until he got himself back under control. “Now, food and rest,” she ordered. “Yes boss,” Bucky said with a watery chuckle.

Ayo said nothing as they headed out of the labs but the look in her eyes and the small smile she had tucked away told Bucky everything he needed to know. “I’m gonna…,” he said, pointing mutely to the elevator doors as they arrived back at the suite. “Of course,” Ayo said with a small incline of her head. They both knew that the roof had become a sort of escape. As wonderful the library was, there were always people there. The roof, for all that a certain someone was often there, was a solitary sanctuary.

For all Bucky felt completely in control of his own actions after hearing the words, his breath hadn’t fully evened out and his skin felt like it was crawling. He needed to decompress, to breathe.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Erik there.

He hesitated, unsure if he really wanted the company or if the man would accept his presence, before slowly walking across the roof. It was strange seeing the man now after talking with him so much. He knew so much about the man now, things he had a feeling no one else did. The only problem was that Erik thought he’d been spending his nights talking to someone else.

The man in question looked up as he approached, smirking predatorily. He sat with his back against against one of the box like pillars near the edge of the roof. One leg was hanging out over empty air and a bottle of something hard was in his hand. He took a swig and passed it up to James.

“I can’t get drunk,” Bucky said warily, leaving him holding it in the space between them. “Seems I can’t either anymore,” Erik said, making a face and sloshing the half empty bottle in Bucky’s direction. “Half a bottle, not even a fucking buzz,” he grumbled as Bucky took it. He took a careful swig, relishing in the familiar burn as it slid down his throat.

Damn, it was strong. His eyes watered and he coughed quietly into his elbow. “When’s the last time you had a drink, pretty boy?” Erik teased with a lopsided smirk. “Seventy-three years, give or take,” he said. “Huddled on the side of a mountain in a blizzard drinking moonshine made in some Frenchman’s barn.” The other man guffawed. “When’s the last time you had a real drink,” Erik said with an arched eyebrow.

“London, nineteen forty-three,” Bucky murmured.

He looked down the valley, getting lost in thought. He could almost hear the music from that night, the men’s deep voices rough and slightly slurred with drink as they belted the words at the top of their lungs.

 

_There is a tavern in the town, in the town._

There was always someone at the piano, belting out drinking songs for the men to sing in harmony or off key, depending on how much they’d had to drink. He could almost smell the cigarette smoke and the thicker woody smoke from the fireplace in the corner. It was always so loud there, boisterous soldiers and raucous music.

_And there my dear love sits him down, sits him down._

He’d not felt completely comfortable with his fellows after being captured in Germany. The others had just been mistreated, starved and occasionally beaten. Bucky had been experimented on. He’d wake at night in a cold sweat, feeling as if something was crawling under his skin. The doctors had told him he was fine but Bucky wasn’t sure if he believed them. He'd put on a good front, fooling them all into thinking he was okay.

He'd even fooled Steve.

_And drinks his wine as merry as can be._

He’d sat apart from them, knowing what Steve was about to ask of them. Steve had already talked to him him and he hadn’t hesitated with his answer. He pushed back the swelling agitation at the thought of what they were going to do and where they were going. They were going to help win the war. They were going back to Germany.

_Fare thee well, for I must leave thee._

Buttons gleaming in the flickering light, tie neatly tucked away. Not a hair out of place. Bucky could never figure out how the man managed to look so put together, even in the middle of a war.

_“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”_

A pretty girl in a red dress, eyes for no one but that little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight.

_“Maybe she has a sister.”_

He could say nothing to that but force a laugh and buy the man another drink.

 

“Why did you do it?” he asked suddenly. “Down in the lab,” he clarified, meeting Erik's confused gaze. “You don’t owe me anything, so why?” He saw something flicker in the man’s eyes, something unsure. He covered it quickly with a smooth shrug and an arrogant smirk. “I did it, didn’t I? Ain’t that enough?” he snarked easily. “Just want to understand,” Bucky replied.

“Nothin’ to understand, white boy,” Erik snarled, a dangerous glimmer in his eye even as his lips smirked. “You always this angry?” Bucky replied, wondering if he was making a huge mistake. The man already beat him once and in full Soldier mode. He had a feeling the man used his anger to fuel his fighting.

“What are you, my shrink?” Erik said with a sharp laugh that felt anything but humorous. “You always ask this many questions?”

“Just—,”

“Just want to understand, yeah you said that already.”

In half a breath the man was up, closing the distance between them in a blink. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he growled, getting up in Bucky’s face. His voice rumbled low in his throat and his eyes flashed as they glared hot. “You don’t belong here. So the faster you get all fixed up, the faster you can get gone. How’s that for an understanding?”

He said nothing, putting as much of the Soldier’s ice into his returning stare because fuck this asshole, he wasn’t going to let this man get under his skin. It Erik found it unnerving, he didn’t show it. Just sneered another feral-edged grin and then was gone.

Bucky stayed where he was, listening to the man’s retreating footsteps and the reverberating slam of the door. He hadn’t thought it would hurt, interacting with this version of Erik when the man he knew from behind a wall was so different.

He downed the rest of the whiskey, relishing in the burn as it coursed down his throat and wishing that he could still get drunk.

 


	5. "My name is Bucky."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter but hopefully an enjoyable read none the less! Lemme know how you like the story so far!

 

“Are you ready?” Ayo said, a smile in her eyes as Bucky answered the door a few weeks later. He hadn’t seen the woman since he had withstood the influence of the trigger words. Shuri had pronounced him sound of mind and T’Challa decided he was no longer in need of a guard.

“For what?” he asked, puzzled.”For training,” she said, a real smile pulling at her lips. That was when Bucky noticed that she wasn’t in her traditional red Dora uniform, sporting instead soft trousers and a wrap-like vest in the same colour.

“I don’t think—,” Bucky began but Ayo rode over him. “You are a gifted fighter, Sergeant Barnes,” she said sternly. “When Bast ordains to give someone a gift, it is not our place to throw it away. So, we train.”

“Ayo—,” he tried again. “The Princess has removed the influence of the words from your mind, yes?” she said swiftly. “Yes,” Bucky replied slowly. “And you resisted their control, yes?” she continued. “Yes, but—,”

“Then your mind is whole and it past time,” she stated sternly, clearly not going to take no for an answer.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky said as he reluctantly stepped onto the mats in a large, open-air training room. Large vaulting archways supported the roof and waist-high ornate railings that curled between the pillars and kept the fighters from falling off the forty-five story building. Racks kept a large variety of weapons neatly organized on one side and massive mirrors reflected the sunlight in sparkling displays.

“You seem very confident for someone who hasn’t had a proper fight in over two years,” Ayo said glibly, shaking out her wrists. “The lab doesn’t count,” she added, as if reading his mind. “I’m talking about a fight where you were in control.” She lashed out suddenly and with no warning, her foot curling up and out towards his head. Bucky spun hurriedly to block it, swatting her foot away in the nick of time.

Ayo smirked and then they were off.

The Dora warrior was a very talented fighter and Bucky felt that she might be holding back. She was clearly testing him, forcing him to adapt and reach deep, pushing his muscles to the edge of their abilities. Ayo landed more than one blow to his less-protected left side and so Bucky placed more and more attention into adjusting his fighting style to compensate.

“Good,” she said out of nowhere as he blocked a particularly sneaky blow to the left side of his head. “Again.”

They fought until Bucky’s hair was damp with sweat and his shirt was beginning to stick to his lower back. “Enough,” Ayo said, stepping back. “That is enough for today and I have a class to teach.”

“Teach?” Bucky asked in surprise as he accepted the towel she passed him. “I teach the young ones spear fighting,” Ayo explained as they stepped off the mats. “There is an observation room,” she added, pointing up to the balcony-like second story that looked down over the training room. “You are more than welcome to stay and watch. Perhaps you will find it style of fighting you wish to learn.” She gave him a sly smile. “Perhaps you’ll even consider sharing your own knowledge with us one day.”

Half an hour later and Bucky was crouched in the shadows, legs crossed and arm resting on the railing as he watched Ayo run a group of young teenagers through a series of drills. She made it look so effortless, the long thin weapon twirling around her body as smooth as water.

  
Watching the class, Bucky found that he liked the idea of teaching. In the weeks that followed after Shuri had stripped the words from his mind, he’d found himself getting antsy. He’d always had a purpose, something to focus on. Before it had been to get better, to regain the control that HYDRA had stollen from him. Now? Now he had nothing.

Bucky knew the skills he’d acquired over the last seventy years belonged in very few civilized places. So maybe teaching could be his way of giving back, to help balance the wrongs even just a little bit. _“One, two, three,_ ” he heard Ayo call out to her students in Wakandan. _“Again!”_

  
_“Oдин, два, три, четыре. Опять!”_

  
Bucky closed his eyes against the dull throb of pain that accompanied the memory. The pain radiated down his neck and out along his left shoulder. It hurt in his chest too, a vice like grip that made it hard to breathe. _"One, two three."_

 

_“Oдин, два, три, четыре.” the stern faced woman snapped briskly, sharp eyes missing nothing. “Опять!”_

_A line up of girls, no older than fifteen, practicing drills against men twice their size. Sun glinting off metal plates that shifted as one by one he took them down to the mats as easily as if they were dolls._

_One girl with hair like fire, bright red curls cut into bangs._

_She was as graceful as a dancer, twisting like a cat around him. Blood exploding across the floor as she bloodied his nose._

_For that, he broke her wrist and three of her ribs._

  
Bucky grimaced, pinching his fingers against the bridge of his nose. 

  
_She was still as graceful as a dancer, still as agile as a cat as she twisted herself up and around him. Metal shifted against metal as he slammed her down onto the table and wrapped a hand around her throat._

_“You could at least recognize me.”_

  
Oh, but he recognized her now.

Bucky opened his eyes, feeling tears prickling at the corners. She had been so young. They had all been and he had helped break them. He had helped mould them into killers, just like him. How could he have thought, even for a moment, that he could teach? He had taught and in doing so, helped strip the innocence away from children.

He slipped away quietly, easily dodging the young women that stood by the training room doors awaiting the next class. He was heading back to his rooms, dark and ugly thoughts swirling in his head, when loud raucous music echoing out from the lab made him pause. Curiosity got the better of him and he peaked around the corner.

He leaned against the corner, watching as Shuri rocked out around the lab by herself, dancing along to the deep thrumming beat. After a moment, the girl’s dancing turned her about and she caught sight of him. She froze, eyes wide at being caught. A quick wave of her hand and the music stopped.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked sharply. “Long enough,” Bucky said with a small smirk. “Is this really what the kids are listening to these days?” he teased, pushing aside his lingering unpleasant thoughts and slipping the carefree mask easily into place. “What, you don’t like it?” she retorted.

Bucky shrugged. “Not really my style.”

Her fingers flew as she pulled up an audio file of tinny sounding brass instruments and peppy male soprano singers. Bucky laughed, bittersweet as he remembered his mother playing that exact same record.

“A bit before my time,” he chuckled. “I grew up in the thirties, not the eighteen-nineties. Think jazz, princess.” Another smirk and a flick of her fingers had grooving trumpet notes filling the lab. Nostalgia hit like a ton of bricks and knocked the breath from Bucky’s lungs.

  
_“Now what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”_

 

His voice had sounded so different; so carefree and light. He was handsome and he knew it. He could get any dame he wanted with a lopsided smirk and a flirty wink. A skirt chaser, they called him.

 

_"Care for a dance, dollface?"_

 

Most of his mother's grey hairs were his doing, or so she claimed. He could practically see that man now, in the mirror that hung above Steve's small stove in the kitchen fixing his hair as he dragged the blonde out to some dance or other. He'd never realized how selfish he'd been back then, before the war. Before everything changed. 

“Bucky?”

He snapped back to the present, Shuri’s worried face swimming in front of his eyes. The music shut off abruptly, leaving him reeling. “Bucky, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…,” she trailed off, eyes worried.

“No,” Bucky said swiftly. “No, it…just caught me off guard is all.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, struggling to regain his composure. “I haven’t heard that song in a long time.” He cleared his throat, focusing back to the present. “So what are you working on?”

“Okay, so, don’t be mad,” Shuri placated, making soothing gestures with her hands as she backed up to a nearby workstation. “And don’t feel pressure to make a decision right now,” she added as her fingers flew gracefully across the holo-screen.

Bucky focused on his breathing as the hologram bloomed into view, rotating slowly. “You’re not mad, are you?” Shuri said softly as he wandered over to the table, uncertainty showing her true age for the first time. “No,” Bucky breathed, fingers hovering just above the intangible prototype. “No, I’m not mad.”

He stared at the arm for a long time. It had been refined since the last time he saw it; sleeker, smoother, plates interlocking seamlessly. The colour was different too. It was now a dark ashy grey, nearly black, with gold subtly shimmering along the seams of each of the plates. It was beautiful and Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about thinking that.

“I need to think about it,” he finally said. “Of course,” Shuri rushed to reassure him. “As I said before, it will be here when you are ready.”

“Thanks,” he replied softly.

Bucky thought about it long into the night. He considered taking his thoughts up to the roof but a surprise summer storm was gathering down the valley, the rumblings of thunder threatening in the distance. So he sat in his makeshift bed and watched the storm roll in over the city.

He found his eyes lingering on the necklace Shuri had got him, sitting on the bedside table. He hadn’t brought himself to wear it again. The rain began hitting the window before long, creating a natural lullaby that had Bucky’s eyes slipping shut without him even realizing it.

 

 

_"Care for a dance, dollface?"_

_A flirty smile was all it took. It was all it ever took. He was a good dancer, another one of his many skills in regards to charming women. He did remember a pair of dark green eyes catching his over the heads of the other dancers._

_Dark curling hair, chiseled jaw, a soldier's uniform. Dark green eyes so very sad._

_He wrenched his eyes away and smiled at the girl in his arms whose name he couldn't even remember. He laid the charm on thick and heavy, focusing on her muddy brown eyes instead of those of emerald green._

_The next time he looked up it was into a pair of eyes that were beetle black, hidden behind round spectacles._ _The floor fell out from under him and suddenly he was falling._

_Falling, falling, falling._

_Bright blue eyes wide with panic, hand outstretched, fingers straining._

_Cold._

_Bursts of conciseness amidst excruciating pain._

_He couldn’t feel his legs, or really anything below his chest. Everything was so cold. White and red danced before his eyes._

_It was starting to snow._

_Hands were grabbing him, carrying him backwards through the snow. Red stained his left side, ending by his ribs which didn’t make sense._

_Straps wrapped around his body, just like the last time. The last time. No, this couldn’t be happening again. Not again. He wouldn’t survive it again._

_“Sergeant Barnes.”_

_And there he was again. Receding hairline, spectacles perched low on his nose, beetle black eyes alight with a dreadful glee._

_No, not again._

_Steve._

_Please hurry._

_“The procedure has already started.”_

_Blue lab coats danced before his eyes. The terrifying whir of a saw before pain exploded from his elbow, radiating up his arm and shoulder._

_He screamed._

_He screamed until his throat tore and bled. He screamed until he lost his voice and then kept screaming._

_He’d never been in so much pain. Not when he’d been captured and beaten, not during the first round of experiments. Never. His whole shoulder felt like it was on fire. Instruments dug under the skin, slicing and stabbing. It never ended._

_His eyes peeled open and he could move his left arm. That didn’t make sense. He didn’t have a left arm anymore. He moved it in tandem with his other hand, making a fist. Light sparked from the shiny metal. A tweedy man with glasses and a clipboard got too close._

_“You are to be the new fist of HYDRA.”_

_His hand wrapped around the man’s throat, squeezing. He felt something snap._

_Something sharp stabbed into his thigh._

_“Put him on ice.”_

_Hands grabbing him; dragging. Frost glossing over everything, crawling down his throat and into his lungs._

_He couldn’t breathe._

 

Bucky’s eyes snapped open.

The room was dark and something was gripping his leg. He lashing out blindly, feeling his foot connect with something solid. There was a surprised grunt followed by a soft thump. Bucky sat bolt upright, chest heaving and panic clawing hot at his throat as he saw a dark shape crouched a few feet away.

Before he could act, lightning flashed bright, illuminating everything for a split second. It lite the furniture, the dimensions of the room, revealing the broad-shouldered man sprawled in the floor. The lightning played off spiky braids and familiar dark eyes that were wide with surprise and confusion, although that was quickly being replaced with anger.

“Jaime?”

  
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_Here we go again,_ Erik grumbled to himself as he was dragged from sleep by yet another one of his neighbour’s nightmares. It had been over a week since he’d been woken up like this.

He thumped on the wall with a sigh, listening as the low whimpers grew in strength. He waited but nothing changed. He sat up, banging on the wall with more vigour. “Come on, bro,” he called out. “Snap out of it.” He winced as a guttural cry tore through the wall. _Thwack, thwack, thwack_. He pounded on the wall so hard the windows rattled. “Jaime!”

After two more unsuccessful attempts to wake the man up, Erik had had enough. He slipped out of bed and strode briskly out of the rooms. His Dora guard were used to his late night wanderings but he could feel them tense when he passed the elevator doors and strode up to Jaime’s room. They didn’t try to stop him though.

He strode quickly into the bedroom, pausing as he found the bed empty. Then a bright lightning flash illuminated the trembling figure tangled in blankets on the ground by the windows. Erik approached slowly, all too aware of how dangerous it was to startle a man like that. He placed a gentle hand on the man’s ankle, murmuring in a low comforting tone. “Jaime? Come on bro, wake up.”

His face was hidden in shadows, his right hand clenching and unclenching in the sheets that were tangled around his body. “Come on man, wake up,” he soothed, giving the man’s foot a gentle shake.

He felt the man jerk and come awake all at once. A foot lashed out, striking his abdomen. Erik was shoved back, skidding slightly on the slippery floor as the other man surged up from the nest of blankets.

A lightning strike cracked through the room, illuminating the room and both men froze. Erik stared across at long dark hair that hung in damp tendrils around a pale face. All too familiar ice blue eyes that were foggy with sleep and wide with panic stared back at him.

“Jaime?” Erik asked, voice rough with surprise and confusion.

“I…,” the man stammered, teeth clacking together as he shivered.

“The fuck is this?” Erik growled softly.

Jaime, Barnes, _the_ _Winter Soldier_ , whatever the fuck the man’s name was, flinched.

“I…,” Barnes stuttered again but Erik wasn’t having it. “What, was this some sorta game or somethin’ for you? You like taking me for a fool?” he growled, hands clenched into fists as they itched to wrap themselves around the man’s slender throat.

“No, I…,” the man tried again.

“Shut the fuck up,” Erik snarled, lunging forward. Barnes nimbly twisted his legs through Erik’s in an attempt to trip him but his muscles were still sluggish, reflexes slow with sleep. Erik easily sidestepped out of it, temper flaring. He growled, grabbing Barnes by the shirt front and throwing him across the room.

The man’s head bounced off the window with a hollow thunk a breath before Erik was on him. He tried to kick up with his knee again but Erik crowded closer, using his body to trap the slightly taller man. “Was it fun, playing me like that?” he hissed dangerously. He pinned Barnes’ wrist up against the glass, feeling the delicate bones grinding under his grip. The man’s eyes rolled wildly, nostrils flaring. Erik bared his teeth. His free hand came up to grip Barnes’ throat, fingers curling up around his jaw.

“You like playing games, pretty boy?” he murmured in a menacingly low voice.

In response the man dropped, hooking a foot behind Erik’s leg as he did. Erik suddenly had a few hundred pounds of super soldier slamming into his abdomen. He didn’t fight the fall, using it to his advantage to toss Barnes up and over. The man tumbled across the floor, slamming hard against the bedside table. The lamp fell with a sharp crash.

Erik leapt to his feet, hands clenched and blood singing. Barnes got to his feet slower, eyes wary. “I don’t wanna fight,” he said softly. “Too bad,” Erik snarled, showing teeth before lashing out with a high kick to the other man’s unprotected left side.

Barnes twisted at the last minute, deflecting the blow off his forearm. The fight continued from there, slowly working its way out of the bedroom and into the common room. Erik was viciously on the offence while the other man fought mostly defensive. Barnes fought near flawlessly but Erik was just as good and took advantage of every single opening.

Finally Erik cracked a heavy fist across Barnes’ face. The man’s head whipped to the side, blood splattering across his lips. Erik grabbed a handful of the man’s collar and threw him into the wall. Barnes’ back hit the drywall and Erik was on him, pinning him once again.

They stared at each other, breathing heavily.

“You done?” Barnes finally said, eyes as cold as ice. “Why, you had enough?” Erik growled, his hand tightening on the man’s collar. “I don’t wanna fight,” the long haired man repeated, but there was a waver in his eyes. Erik smirked viciously, leaning closer.

“I don’t believe you.”

Something dangerous flashed across those ice blue eyes and then Erik was on the floor trying to heave air back into his abused lungs as blood poured from his nose and mouth. “I said I didn’t want to fight,” Barnes said stiffly as he stood over him. “Not that I couldn’t.”

Erik laughed, tasting iron as he pushed himself up to his knees. “Now that I believe,” he chuckled, spitting blood. Bastard had been holding back the whole time. He staggered to his feet, pinching his fingers under his nose to try and stem the flow. Something flickered in Barnes’ eyes.

“It’s broken,” Barnes said softly, eyeing Erik’s nose.. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he snarked, feeling something warm and wet now dripping between his fingers. “Here,” the other man said, tossing him a dishtowel from the nearby kitchen. “You’re bleeding all over the floor.”

“So you wanna tell me why the fuck you thought it was a good idea to play me like you did?” Erik snapped as he pressed the towel up under his nose. “You lied and that—.” His words were cut short by a rude snort. “Hypocrite,” Barnes muttered under his breath as he snatched a towel for himself, dabbing at his split lip gingerly. “ ‘Scuse you?” Erik snapped, taking a menacing step forward. Barnes met his hot glare with cool calm.

“I never lied,” he said. “I just didn’t tell you everything. Sound familiar?”

Erik’s eye twitched. “Well, seems to me the Princess is taking her sweet time in fixing that head of yours,” Erik retorted waspishly. He saw the man’s shoulders tense and grinned viciously. “Unless she did fix you,” he drawled slowly. “Which has me asking, why the fuck’r you still here?”

Barnes shrugged a shoulder smoothly, as if he’d been asked his opinion on the weather. Nothing changed in the man’s face but Erik had a feeling he’d struck a nerve. “Nowhere else to go,” he stated, even as his eyes flickered. “Another thing we have in common.” Now it was Erik’s turn to snort. “I have plenty of places I could go,” he retorted before he could stop himself. A slip of the tongue and one Barnes promptly jumped on. “Then why stay?” he asked. In reply, Erik held up his wrist, displaying his _kimoyo_ beads. “Not like I got a choice in the matter," he snarked.

Barnes just shrugged again, holding up his own set. “I bet yours doesn’t sent ninety thousand volts through your body when you stray,” Erik sneered. “I can’t imagine that being a problem for a man of your abilities,” Barnes replied. “I bet you could slip that thing easy; if you wanted to,” he added after a beat.

Once again, this man out of time had him feeling completely off balance. Erik didn’t know how to reply so he turned on his heel and strode towards the door. “That’s what I thought,” he heard the man say, softly as if to himself.

That’s when something inside Erik snapped.

With a guttural growl, he launched himself across the kitchen. Barnes barely managed to block the flurry of blows that rained down on him. Erik was seeing red, driving the long-haired man back through the kitchen towards the far wall.

With a snarl, Erik cracked a vicious backhand across the man’s face. Barnes’ head whipped to the side, hair flying. Momentum made him spin, stumbling into the cupboards. His shoulders slumped and he leaned heavily on the counter. A dark feeling of triumph hummed in Erik’s bones as he strode forward but before he could even lay a finger on the man, Barnes was moving.

He came up under Erik’s guard before the other man could even blink and then everything slammed to black.

 

 

Erik crawled back into the world slowly. His training kicking itself into full gear and he kept his eyes closed, relaxing his muscles to fain unconsciousness as he took in his surroundings. He was lying on something soft which was a surprise. He wasn’t restrained in any way, which was another surprise.

His face hurt. That wasn’t a surprise.

“I know you’re awake,” a soft voice reached his ears. Erik opened his eyes. There was weak light streaming through the windows now, throwing the former assassin into silhouette. The man sat in a nearby armchair, pushed up against the window.

Erik sat up gingerly. His face throbbed and he grimaced as his searching fingers brushed across flaky dried blood that sheathed the lower half of his face. “I broke your nose again,” the former assassin called out, eyes not wavering from the city below. “Sorry,” he added, sounding anything but. Erik felt along his nose carefully, feeling nothing too badly out of place. “I set it,” Barnes told him. “I’m sure it’ll be healed by morning.”

“Why?” Erik asked in confusion before he could check himself. He flushed in embarrassment for his lack of self-control as he watched the man shrug dismissively. “I’m not a complete asshole.” The words weren’t said with any heat but Erik still flinched.

The former assassin huffed a breath, still not looking behind him. “I wasn’t trying to play you,” he admitted, voice soft and just barely carrying to Erik’s ears. “It was just nice having someone to talk to who didn't, you know, judge.”

Erik’s mouth went dry. He left before he embarrassed himself further.

He sat on the floor of his room, back pressed against the wall in silence for a very long time. The light grew He sat couldn’t bring himself to admit that he’d felt the exact same thing. He became painfully aware of the connection he’d built with this man without even knowing it. He’d told Barnes things about himself that he’d never told anyone else and not been judged for it. It had been nice to feel not so lonely anymore, even just for a little while.

He was a coward; a fucking coward who’d ruined the first decent human interaction he’d had in years all because he was… he didn’t even know. _Scared_ , a treacherous part of his mind whispered to him. Fucking pathetic.

He sat as the sun slowly tracked across the sky, until it blazed in dying glory before slipping past the horizon. The stars were out in force by the time his ears picked up the quiet rustlings of movement from the other side of the wall behind him.

Finally he worked up enough courage, or stupidity, and before he could properly think it through he raised a fist and thumped it against the wall.

One, two, three.

  
There was a pause from the other side of the wall. The quiet rustlings stopped. Erik licked his lips nervously and spoke quickly before he chickened out. “So what am I supposed to call you then?” he called out gruffly. Silence echoed before a startled “What?” floated through the wall.

"You got too many fuckin’ names,” Erik gripped, hiding the churning unease behind sarcasm as he always did. “Just pick one, like a normal person.” He chewed on the inside of his lower lip as he waited for the reply; a nervous habit.

He waited a good long while, long enough that he was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to get an answer, but finally a soft voice murmured through the wood and plaster.

“My name is Bucky.”

 

 


	6. What the fuck had he done?

It’d been over two weeks since Bucky had seen or even heard anything from Erik. So it was a surprise when a knock at the door revealed the man himself, lounging casually against the doorjamb. The Dora that used to follow on the man’s heels were nowhere to be seen. Bucky realized with a start that he hadn’t seen the warriors on their floor in a while.

“Sup?” Erik said, thumbs hooked into his waistband and a challenging smirk on his lips. “Wanna spar?” Bucky blinked. To tell the truth, he’d been antsy of late. His muscles were practically screaming for something to do.

He opened his mouth to say “No,” but somehow “Sure,” came out instead. There was something exhilarating about the dangerous edge to Erik’s smirk as he led Bucky to a small gym on their floor that Bucky hadn’t known existed. It was simple enough, a large padded area surrounded by benches and mirrors. Like most things in the palace, it had massive windows overlooking the city below.

Bucky toed off his boots as Erik rolled his shoulders. “You gonna stick with the one arm thing?” the man asked, rolling out his wrists. He smirked at Bucky’s silence. “I’m sure the Princess has some fancy new upgrade for you. So why’r you still lopsided?” Bucky shrugged as he stepped up onto the mats. “What, you like being a gimp?” Erik snarked. He struck out with a sneaky kick to Bucky’s left side without waiting for an answer. Bucky twisted but not fast enough. He grunted as the blow connected with his ribs.

“See, can’t even block a simple kick,” Erik taunted. Erik’s satisfied smirk was short lived as Bucky hooked his foot behind the man’s ankle, kicking out his supporting foot. Erik tumbled to the ground, using the momentum to roll gracefully to his feet.

“Knocked you out before without too much trouble,” Bucky snarked back, keeping his eye on Erik as the man circled around him like a predator. His shoulder tingled, pain sparking down an arm that wasn’t there anymore but he ignored it. “He speaks!” the other man cackled. “I guess it’s one for one, pretty boy” he said with a sharp smile, referring to the time he had knocked Bucky out while under the influence of the trigger words.

“How ‘bout we make this a bit more interesting?”

Bucky watched suspiciously as the man reached his left arm behind him, twisted his fist into the back of his shirt. “Better?” he said with a smirk before attacking again without warning. The fight continued; they were perfectly matched. They fought steadily until they were both dripping sweat and the mats were getting damp.

Then Bucky’s foot slipped. Erik’s fist cracked across his face and he went down. He scrambled back up in a breath but stumbled as fire raced through his shoulder. His breath hissed sharply between his teeth as his knee hit the mats. Erik paused in his advance, that aggressive smirk pulling at his lips. “I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?” he teased.

Bucky opened his mouth to snap a retort but white hot pain sparked up his left side. He snapped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth so he wouldn't make a sound. “What’s wrong with you?” Erik snapped but Bucky couldn’t focus on him. The pain was now radiating down an arm he didn’t have and out through fingers that didn’t exist. He clapped a hand to his shoulder to try and remind his body that his arm wasn’t there and that the pain was all in his head.

Erik was talking at him but all he heard was an irritating buzz and he couldn’t focus on anything but the pain. Suddenly he was hauled upright, his arm slung across a pair of broad shoulders. He flailed in surprise, scrambling to get his feet underneath him. “Easy, pretty boy,” Erik murmured.

An arm wrapped around his waist and Bucky found himself spirited out down the hallway and into Erik’s rooms. He was dropped unceremoniously at the table before Erik disappeared. Bucky’s breath hitched and he shut his eyes, trying to push past the white haze of pain. Fuck. He couldn’t even control his own body. His arm had been gone for years; this was just fucking weak.

Something thunked onto the table in front of him and fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Gimme your arm,” Erik said, yanking Bucky’s hand away from his shoulder. “Calm down,” he snapped as Bucky tugged frantically against the man’s iron hold. His wrist was slammed onto the table and he was yanked forward until the edge of the table jammed up against his armpit.

“Look!” Erik growled, his other hand coming to grip the top of Bucky’s left shoulder, holding him still. Bucky’s eyes latched onto his own reflection and he froze. A long slender mirror sat propped up along the table, showing the mirror image of his right arm as if it were his left. He didn’t even notice when Erik let go of his wrist.

He was too preoccupied by the fact that his arm didn’t hurt anymore.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured, glancing up to Erik where he’d taken a seat next to him. “Mirror box therapy,” Erik explained. “Helps deal with phantom limb pain. You know what that is?” Bucky nodded numbly, still staring at the reflection. “Shuri mentioned it, but I lost the arm years ago—,”

“And you were brainwashed and kept in a freezer for most of it,” Erik drawled. “You body probably didn’t have time to process what happened to it.”

“How do you know all this?” Bucky asked. Erik shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “Knew a guy who lost his legs, went through the same thing,” he said, refusing to elaborate more. With a sigh Bucky straightened, rubbing his shoulder self consciously. “Thanks,” he said softly. Erik just shrugged, embarrassed. “Don’t get all weepy ’n shit on me now,” he drawled with a lopsided smirk, kicking his feet up onto the table.

The door behind them clicked open and T’Challa strode into the room, face stoney. “What’s up, cuz?” Erik sneered, his smile turning hard and sharp. “What did you do?” T’Challa breathed, eyes blazing. “Me?” Erik replied with sarcastic innocence. Bucky could feel the tension radiating between the two men. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking' ab—,” Erik’s mocking words were cut off as T’Challa grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him down onto the table.

Bucky leapt up only to find a strong grip latch into his bicep and Okoye’s warning glare not to interfere. “The fuck?” Erik gasped, hands latching onto the king’s wrists. “Nakia was attacked outside the Outreach Centre in Oakland,” T’Challa growled. “What?” Erik snapped, eyes widening in surprise. “The fuck that have to do with me?”

“They were your men,” T’Challa snapped. “What?” Erik said again. T’Challa just growled, yanking Erik upright and crowding him back against the nearest wall. Erik hit with a solid thwack, his head bouncing off the drywall. “Get the fuck off me!” Erik snarled. He pushed back but T’Challa shook him sharply like a terrier might shake a rat before slamming him against the wall again. “They were your men,” he snapped again. “For your J-SOC days, you commanded them. You’ll be sorry to hear they’re all dead. Nakia saw to that.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Erik sneered but Bucky could see the nervous edge in the man’s eyes. “You expect me to believe that?” T’Challa breathed. “That it was just a coincidence?”

“Believe what you want,” the younger man spat. “But I didn’t do it.” It was a stand off, each man glaring back at the other. Finally T’Challa dropped him, taking a few steps back. “If I find out you had anything to do with this,” the king threatened. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll make me regret ever being born,” Erik drawled. Bucky could see the muscles in T’Challa’s jaw bunch. “Don’t make me regret giving you a second chance,” the man breathed before storming out.

“Yeah, fuck you too cuz,” Erik snarled at T’Challa’s retreating back. Bucky stood there, unsure what to do as the rest of the Dora filed out behind their king. He caught Okoye's eye as she left. Her face was guarded and unreadable but Bucky felt the heavy waves of disapproval emanating from her. Apparenrly his association with Erik hadn't gone unnoticed. She threw one last heated glance towards the aforementioned man before stalking out.

Bucky turned his gaze back to the other man. “The fuck you lookin’ at?” Erik spat. “Did you do it?” he asked softly. Erik glared at him. “Would it matter if I said no?” he snarled. Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe.” The look Erik gave him was very strange, tinged with barely hidden disbelief.

“I didn’t do it,” he said quietly after a long moments pause.

“Okay,” Bucky replied.

“What, that’s it?” Erik scoffed. Bucky shrugged. “I got really good at knowing when people are lying to me,” he said. The other man gave him a long look before breaking it with a snort and a disbelieving shake of his head. That soft sided smirk tugging at his lips again and Bucky started to think the man might have two kinds of smirks. There was the sharp edged one he usually showed the world and then there was this one, the one that Bucky was beginning to see more and more.

“You wanna drink?” Bucky asked. Erik gave him a scathing look. “We’re in my kitchen. You offering me my own shit, pretty boy?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Like either of us own anything in this place,” he drawled as he watched the other man pull out a bottle of amber liquid, snatching a couple glasses from a cupboard above the sink.

“And what’s with the pretty boy nickname?” he asked as Erik poured for both of them. Erik snorted. “Seen a mirror lately? If your hair was any longer I’d be calling you Rapunzel.” Bucky’s fingers twitched around his glass. “Hair a sensitive subject?” Erik inquired.

Bucky’s only response was to down his bourbon in one, sliding his glass back towards Erik. “A’ight,” Erik chuckled. “Message received.” He hooked his ankle around a chair, turning it around so he could straddle it. Buck slide easily into the chair across, nodding his thanks as Erik refilled his glass and slide it back to him.

They were about half way through the bottle when Erik suddenly chuckled. “Man, this is so surreal,” he stated, shaking his head. “I remember reading about you in school, memorizing dates about Howling Commando missions ’n shit.” Bucky snorted. “Don’t trust the history books,” he pointed out. “They all exaggerate at best, flat-out lie at worst.”

“Oh yeah?” Erik asked in interest. “Well for one thing, I was born in March not May,” he replied. “And I never said that stupid fucking quote.”

“Wait, you talking ‘bout the one with liberty and something in it, right?” the other man asked with raised eyebrows. “I remember that from grade eight. Somethin’ like ‘I believe in you, Steve. I believe in Captain America’—,”

“And finishes with ‘I guess ‘cause we need a Captain America. I need a Captain America’?” Bucky finished with an eye roll and a mock salute. “Laid it on a bit thick, didn’t they?” The other man snorted. “What did you actually say?” he asked, taking a sip. “Probably just called him an idiot,” Bucky muttered into his glass, prompting another chuckle from the man.

“So what else did they get wrong?” Erik asked, eyes twinkling with amusement. Bucky felt his chest tighten. He knew exactly what they’d gotten wrong. He hadn’t even told Steve. He’d just assumed and Bucky had just let him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend, not when all Steve could think about was doing his part for the war effort.

“I was drafted,” he said softly.

Erik froze, his glass half way to his lips. “I never volunteered,” Bucky said, idly spinning his glass in circles. “None of that ‘serve my country, sense of honour and duty’. That was always Steve. He saw volunteering as a patriotic duty. I never wanted to fight.”

“Must have been tough,” Erik murmured softly, eyes thoughtful. “Only thing that made it bearable was that Steve wasn’t there,” Bucky said bitterly. “And then he went and joined the army which was exactly what I didn’t want. Signed up to become a fucking lab rat, came out looking like a fucking action hero—.”

Bucky bit off his words, realizing he’d been rambling. He’d revealed things he’d never talked about to anyone before. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t have to listen to me,” he stuttered before downing what was left in his glass.

Erik didn’t laugh, as Bucky expected him to. He didn’t play it off or make some snarky remark. Instead he just looked at him like he might actually understand and refilled his glass.

 

 

_“желание.”_

_Longing._

_The words echoed in his head, harsh and painful. They bounced around against the sides of his skull, causing pain to ripple out down his neck. One after another the words pounded against his temples, stripping him away from the inside out._

_“возвращение на родину.”_

_Homecoming._

_“Один.”_

_One._

_He never could focus on the words themselves. In theory he knew what they were, but he’d never given them any thought as to their significance. They were just words; words he’d learned to hate._

_“грузовой вагон.”_

_Freight car._

 

Bucky woke with ice in his throat and a cry trapped behind his teeth. Everything seemed to be vibrating and he couldn’t sit still. He began to pace the bedroom. Slowly his pacing became more and more frantic, eventually taking him out into the kitchen. He splashed cold water on his face, scrubbing it through his long hair. Didn’t help.

With a growl he lashed out, his fist connecting with the fridge. Pain flared across his knuckles, clearing his head. It helped but the words still echoed in the back of his mind so he punched again, and again, and again. He kept punching, trying to use the pain to drive the words from his head.

He didn’t hear the door click open and he didn’t hear the soft footsteps that padded across the floor. He only noticed he wasn’t alone when an arm hooked around his and pulled him back. He shrugged off the touch viciously, striking out with a low kick.

“Whoah, easy!” Erik snapped, leaping back to avoid the blow.

Bucky lashed out again, in full self-defence mode now. “Calm down,” the other man hissed as he snagged Bucky’s wrist. Panic flared and he kicked out again but Erik easily dodged it. Something shifted in the man’s eyes and Bucky found himself yanked sideways, his back colliding with a broad chest as an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

Bucky’s feet scrabbled for purchase on the slippery tile floor as he thrashed. He shoved himself back, shoving the other man hard into the counter. He felt Erik slip and then they were both on the ground. Legs wrapped over his hips, feet pinning his legs down as Erik wrapped both arms firmly around him. Bucky’s arm got pinned against his own chest and no amount of struggling could free it.

“Stop. Just stop,” the man snapped next to his ear. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. Just stop.” The panic weighed heavy in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He slammed his head back but Erik was ready for it and kept his head tucked low against Bucky’s shoulder.

Slowly the embrace stopped feeling so restrictive and started feeling almost comforting. The panic ebbed. His breathing evened and he stopped fighting. It kind of felt nice; calming and…safe. It had been a long time since Bucky had felt safe. He found himself beginning to relax back against Erik’s chest, catching himself just in time. He shoved up against the man’s arms.

“Let go,” he bit out.

He was released after a brief hesitation and promptly scrambled to his feet and away from the other man. He scrubbed his hand over his face, wincing as the bones grated in ways they shouldn’t. Bucky looked down at the torn and bloody knuckles, at the bruising that was already beginning to show.

A gentle touch at his elbow startled him and he glanced across into dark eyes that, as usual, gave nothing away. He let Erik guide him over to the couch. He watched in a post-adrenaline haze as the man tisked over the state of his hand. “Idiot,” he muttered as he produced an ice pack and gently laid it across the injured appendage. “You probably broke somethin’,” he said tersely.

“Just cracked,” Bucky croaked, staring at the floor. “It’ll heal by morning. I’m fine.”

His tone was cold and he waited for the man to take the hint and leave. Instead Erik perched on the edge of the coffee table. He could feel the man’s eyes on him. “You wanna tell me what the fuck that was about?” he asked. “Or do you just make it a habit of beating your hands bloody?” He’d pitched his tone soft but Bucky still flinched all the same. It was subtle, a slight twitched under his left eye, but he knew Erik saw it. The man didn’t miss much.

“What, you got nothin’?” the man taunted.

Bucky grimaced. Clearly the man wasn’t going to take a subtle hint. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbled, staring out past the man’s shoulder. “Couldn’t hear you,” Erik needled, leaning closer. “Try again.”

“How about fuck off asshole, it’s none of your business?” Bucky snapped harshly. Erik reared back, eyes flashing. Bucky braced himself for the man’s temper but Erik surprised him. He laughed, a deep rich sound that did funny things to Bucky’s stomach which he promptly ignored.

“I probably deserved that,” he chuckled as he stood. Bucky swallowed sharply, catching himself just in time from reaching out and physically stopping the man. The last thing he wanted to be right now was alone, even if he would never admit it. He could feel the words lingering in the back of his head, taunting him. The prospect of facing them alone in the dark was too overwhelming.

Erik caught his eye, something slightly surprised and calculating in his gaze. Bucky mentally kicked himself. He was like an open book these days, or maybe Erik was just that perceptive. The man licked his lips, glancing around like he was weighing options. “You got anything to drink?” he asked suddenly. “Never looked,” Bucky replied, startled.

The other man snorted rudely and moved to rummage around the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with two short glasses and a full bottle of tequila. “So you’re the one whose been hiding the good stuff,” Erik teased as he sprawled out on the couch next to Bucky and poured two generous helpings of the rich gold liquor.

“You seen Jurassic Park?” he asked, snatching up a remote from under the coffee table. Bucky shook his head, confused. “Men in Black? Fight Club? Mission Impossible? Terminator? The Princess Bride? Nothin’?” Each time Bucky shook his head, feeling more and more confused. Erik just smirked and pressed a button.

“You’ve got a lotta catchin’ up to do, pretty boy,” he drawled as a thin projector screen descended from the ceiling.

 

 

 

Bucky strode down to the lab first thing the next morning, still feeling twitchy anxious. Erik had been the perfect distraction but the underlying issue had reared its ugly head as soon as the other man had left. The words echoed underneath everything, taunting him.

“Read me the words,” was the first thing out of his mouth. Shuri looked up, startled by his sudden entrance. “Please,” he added, flinching at the hint of desperation that leaked into his voice. “I have to be sure.”

“Of course,” Shuri said with a sad smile.

“Again,” he said after he could breathe again, flexing his wrist against the straps that held him down as he blinked sweat from his eyes. Shuri hadn’t thought it necessary but Bucky had insisted. “Bucky—,” Shuri tried. “Again,” he snapped through clenched teeth. Shuri sighed. She waved her hand and the tinny robotic voice began to speak again.

“Alright, that’s enough,” she snapped after the fifth time. The straps released and Bucky stumbled to his feet. He held his tongue this time but in the back of his mind it still wasn’t enough. Shuri seemed to be able to tell. “Give me your wrist,” she commanded, holding a hand out to him.

Bucky stumbled over to the console, muscles trembling. She held his _kimoyo_ beads over the interface until one of the beads glowed white. “There,” she said, swiping her hand over them. Luminescent words bloomed above Bucky’s wrist and he froze, staring at the softly glowing letters.

“You speak and read Russian, yes?” Shuri asked. Bucky nodded, unable to find his voice. “Then learn them yourself,” she told him sternly. “They can’t control you anymore, so don’t let them.”

 

  
Erik found him on the roof, hours later and still staring at the translucent words that projected above his palm. “Workin’ on your shopping list or somethin'?” Bucky heard him say with a chuckle as he folded his long legs and sat across from him.

The large man squinted at the backwards letters intently. “Why are you…longing for a rusted furnace at daybreak?” the man asked. The bottom of Bucky’s stomach fell out and he twisted his wrist, the words disappearing like smoke. “You speak Russian,” he said stiffly.

Erik shrugged. “I speak a lotta languages,” he said simply. “Part of the job. But don’t think I can be distracted that easily,” he said slyly. Bucky huffed, staring out over the valley. “Those are them, right?” Erik asked. He phrased it like a question but his tone wasn’t asking. “The words. What HYDRA used to control you.”

“Shuri says I should learn them,” he replied, fiddling with a loose thread from the seam of his pants. “Smart kid,” Erik said. They sat in silence for a long while, neither one seemingly in a hurry to break it.

 _“желание,”_ Erik finally said into the quiet, in perfectly accented Russian.

Bucky’s eye twitched. Erik said it again. “Don’t,” Bucky breathed. “Then you say it,” the other man challenged. “Come on, pretty boy. Don’t go soft on me now. _Pжавый."_

“Stop it,” Bucky growled. “So stop me,” Erik challenged, a hard glint in his eye.

_“Nечь.”_

Bucky closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, slamming Erik up against one of the tall turret like structures that dotted the roof. He felt the breath whoosh from the other man’s lungs on impact. _“Pассвет,”_ Erik murmured. Bucky’s hand tightened in Erik’s collar, his forearm pressing up against the man’s throat.

Erik didn’t say anything else, staring down at Bucky like he was waiting for something. That was when Bucky realized that the man didn’t know what came next. Those were all the words that he saw. He would have never been able to finish but he’d started it so Bucky didn’t have to.

 _“Cемнадцать,”_ he breathed into the space between them. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, acidic and dangerous. Something sparked in Erik’s eye and he stared intently back at Bucky. Something in his gaze was encouraging and Bucky forced himself to say the next word.

_“доброкачественный.”_

Once he started, it was easier to continue even if each word felt like tar in his throat and stuck to his teeth before he spat them into the air. The last words were the hardest to say, conjuring numb echoes of falling and a terrible cold that sunk right into his bones.

_“Rрузовой автомобиль.”_

He stood frozen, fingers trembling where they were tangled in Erik’s collar. Slowly, giving him enough time to move away, Erik brought a hand up to rest gently on his shoulder. Bucky felt the man’s thumb rest lightly on his collarbone. When he didn’t shrug away from the touch, Erik gently squeezed. Bucky could feel fingers knead into the tense muscle at the base of his neck.

Their eyes caught and held. Bucky had to remind himself how to breathe.

With a start Bucky realized how long they’d been standing like that and he pulled away. “Sorry,” he whispered, scrubbing his long hair back from his face as he felt his face grow hot. “S’all good,” Erik said, clearing his throat self-consciously as he tugged his shirt back into place.

“They made a sequel, yah know,” the man said, voice painfully casual. “What?” Bucky blinked. “The movie last night,” Erik elaborated. Bucky felt his eyebrows shoot up. “They made two of them?” he asked incredulously. Erik smirked. “Naw,” he drawled, a mischievous spark in his eye. “They made four.”

 

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

 

Erik heaved a sigh. He downed the last of his tequila as the credits rolled, stealing another glance at the dark haired man sprawled on the couch next to him. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. Bucky was fast asleep, his head lolling against the back of the couch. In sleep, the former assassin looked so much younger. Maybe it was just that he looked his age, without all the tension. He looked peaceful, his lips parted as he snored softly. He looked so peaceful.

Erik tore his eyes away, swallowing sharply. He cued up the next movie because they were in his rooms and he didn’t feel like waking the guy up. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and slouching down against the arm of the couch.

A sudden shriek from the movie had Bucky twitching in his sleep and Erik hurriedly turned down the volume so the kid and the guy hang-gliding onto the dinosaur infested island wouldn’t wake the other man. Pretty boy looked like he hadn’t had a decent sleep in weeks. He probably hadn’t, knowing the man’s tendency for nightmares.

Pretty boy. Fuck, why’d he have to start in with that fucking nickname. It didn’t help that the man had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Erik could easily get lost in them. Bucky shifted in his sleep, head slipping sideways to rest against his shoulder. His long hair fell across his eye and Erik’s fingers itched to brush it back.

He took a long pull straight from the bottle, wishing he could still get drunk.

 

_“Fuck you!” she snarled, eyes hot with hate as she glared down at him. “I trusted you!”_

_“I know,” he whispered._

_“I loved you!”_

_“I’m sorry,” he breathed._

_He had never loved her back, could never love her back. She was a means to an end and nothing more. He’d used her as easily as breathing; he’d used her up and disposed of her once that use was up._

_A bullet hole opened up her forehead, square between the eyes. Her head snapped back and she dropped, her body consumed by purple fire._

_Everything grew bigger, or he grew smaller, and he was sitting crosslegged across from his father once again._

_“What did I tell you about going into my things, hmm?”_

_His father’s eyes were gentle and sad as they stared at him. It felt like a punch to the gut. His throat closed with awful emotions that he didn’t want to deal with. The room swam and he stared down at the book in his lap._

_“They say you are lost.”_

_“I’m not,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”_

_“Are you lost, my son?”_

_“I’m right here! “ he cried. “I’m right fucking here!”_

_Purple fire raced through his veins like they had on the day he’d drank the heart-shaped herb and he flung the book across the room with a snarl._

_The room shifted and suddenly he was standing inches away from his father. The man’s eyes snapped wide, the air whooshing from his lungs with a sharp huff. His father’s hands gripped his shoulders, a shocked and pained expression on his face._

_His eyes tracked down his father’s chest, to where his claws were buried deep within the man’s heart._

_“No,” he moaned._

_“N’Jadaka,” his father breathed, a single tear leaking from the corner of his eye as his knees buckled._

_“No, no, no, no, no,” he sobbed as he fell to the floor, his father sprawling out along his lap. “I’m right here. I’m right here,” he murmured as he felt the breath leave his father’s body. His hands scrabbled to stem the blood pouring from the fatal wound but he couldn’t stop it._

_His hands were too small._

 

  
“Erik!”

He woke with a start to dinosaurs eating people and Bucky crouched by his knee with worried eyes. “The fuck?” he gasped. His face felt itchy, eyes dry and gritty. He brought a hand up to his cheek and found that it was…damp? Had he been crying?  
  
“You were crying out in your sleep,” the dark-haired man said, wiping sleep from his own eyes. “Fuck,” Erik spat, shoving past the kneeling man. “Relax,” he heard the man murmur behind him, his gentle tones getting under his skin and making his blood boil. “Just breathe.”

“Shut up,” Erik growled, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. The guy didn’t seem to take the hint. “I get ‘em too,” Bucky continued, huffing a bitter chuckle. “You know that better than—!”

The man’s words were cut off sharply as Erik grabbed him around the throat and shoved him up against the couch. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, wisps of purple clouds still clinging behind his eyes. Legs wrapped around his hips and Erik found himself yanked sideways. Together they rolled off the couch and onto the plush carpet.

Somehow Erik ended up on his back with Bucky straddling his hips. One of Erik’s arms got trapped under the man’s knee, the other pinned to his chest with Bucky’s iron grip around his wrist. Erik bucked his hips to try and unseat the man but Bucky was heavy and too well balanced. Bucky’s eyes calm and determined as he leaned forward to press his forearm across Erik’s chest. “Calm down,” he murmured, his nose now mere inches from Erik’s.

Erik looked up and got lost in an ice blue sea.

He was suddenly hyper aware of how the ground felt pressed up against his back, how Bucky’s thighs felt straddling his own, how the ends of the man’s hair felt as they brushed against his cheeks. Something flickered across Bucky’s face. He licked his lips nervously and Erik could’t help trace the movement with his eyes.

He watched Bucky’s throat roll as he swallowed and the pressure on Erik’s chest lessened as he sat up. It was then that Erik lost all self control and surged forward. His hand tangled in the front of the man’s shirt and before he could stop himself, his lips were pressed against Bucky’s.

It almost felt like the man was kissing him back before Erik felt Bucky freeze and he jerked back. Something cold and horrified gripped his throat as he saw Bucky staring back at him, eyes wide and stunned. “I…,” Bucky fumbled, hand hovering above Erik’s chest like he didn’t know what to do with it. Erik's stomach dropped as something hard filled the other man's eyes. "The fuck are you thinking?" Bucky breathed.

Shit.

Erik shoved the other man back hard, sending Bucky sprawling. He was on his feet in the next heartbeat, turning his back to the stunned man. “Get out,” he breathed, cupping a hand over his mouth. His lips were tingling and he couldn’t think straight. His hands were trembling and he couldn’t get them to stop. He couldn’t get them to fucking stop.

“Erik—.”

“Get the fuck out!” he roared.

He didn’t turn around but he heard the man pick himself up. He tracked the soft footsteps that cross behind him. A moment later and the soft click of the door shutting announced the man's exit. Erik’s vision swam and he clenched his eyes against the burn.

What the fuck had he done?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh! Things are getting interesting! As always, feedback is my fairy dust! Hope y'all are still enjoying the story so far!


	7. God, What If Steve Found Out?

Bucky didn’t leave his rooms for five days. He didn’t sleep, only catching catnaps here and there and only ever on the couch. His mind was reeling and wouldn't quiet down long enough for him to get a proper rest.

What the fuck had Erik been thinking?

He tried not to make it obvious that he was avoiding the man but that wasn’t really an option considering how much time they had been spending together. Uncomfortable feelings had taken up permanent residence in his chest, jammed up under his sternum like they were fighting their way up into his throat. They felt familiar, like echoes or something from a dream. If he focused on them, identifying names would float into his head.

_Confusion._

_Desire._

_Guilt._

_Shame._

Bucky tried not to focus on them. He wasn’t sure which was more terrifying. That Erik had actually done what he did, bold as brass, or that Bucky secretly wanted it to happen again. He bite off that train of thought whenever it reared its head. It couldn’t happen again. He couldn’t let it.

His dreams took on new and terrifying shapes, on the odd occasion he managed to sleep long enough to dream. He dreamed about Steve, which was new. He looked disappointed and disgusted and Bucky would wake up in a cold sweat.

Steve.

God, what if Steve found out?

One night he woke with a low baritone voice and a pair of green eyes echoing through his mind. The room was blurry and he was startled to find tears in his eyes. He hated that his mind was a jigsaw puzzle and none of the pieces seemed to fit.

The next night he woke with a name on his tongue and the ghost of fingers threading through his own.

The glorious thing about the twenty-first century was the wealth of information at the tips of his fingers, especially in Wakanda. It took mere minutes to find a photo of the face that belonged to the name, along with an obituary dated August fourteenth, nineteen forty-seven; two years after the war was over. Bucky’s hands shook as he banished the article, the glow of the _kimoyo_ bead dying away and leaving him in darkness.

 

“Okay, let’s do this,” he stated, striding into the lab the next morning. Shuri looked up, no longer startled by his abrupt entrances and declarations anymore. She just raised an eyebrow at him and waited. She had this look about her, like she knew what had happened. What he had done. He swallowed thickly. “The arm,” he elaborated, taking a breath.

At once, the young girl exploded into an excited ball of uncontainable energy and immediately dragged him over to a chair to begin measurements. “I’m ready,” was the only explanation he gave when questioned about why now.

He didn’t tell her why _now_.

Bucky’s mind was his own now and in light of…certain events, it was time for him to leave. Now that the control words had been removed, he had nothing to worry about. Well, besides the many major governments who were hellbent on bringing him to justice and the various splintered factions that were what remained of HYDRA who were probably still looking for him, but Bucky could take care of himself.

He’d be able to disappear. It would be better that way.

Bucky ignored the nagging voice in the back of his head breathing him for taking advantage of the charity of these people, taking their gift and running. Maybe he was a coward but the risks were too great. He wouldn't destroy another life because he couldn’t control his proclivities.

It took a week for the arm to be made. It felt like forever but finally the morning came where he was waking up, groggy and disorientated from surgery. He blinked and Shuri’s face swam into focus. “Take it slowly,” she cautioned, a hand on his flesh shoulder.

Bucky glanced down, staring at the sleek black metal appendage that lay on the chair next to him. Slivers of gold traced the joints, an addition Shuri had added during the final design. It wasn’t as flashy as he’d feared. It was actually very beautiful. “I’m going to activate it now,” he heard Shuri say. “You will feel some tingling. Let me know if anything hurts.”

Something beeped behind him and he gasped as feeling suddenly snapped into existence, starting at his shoulder joint and racing down his arm and out his fingers. “Does it hurt?” Shuri asked sharply, moving to stand on his left side. “No,” he murmured in wonder, breathing through the alien sensations that hummed through the artificial nerves. Shuri had warned him that he would have more feeling in this prosthetic, more control. “Try moving your fingers,” she encouraged.

The movement was jerky and a little sloppy at first, the digits twitching spastically against the chair. It quickly began smoother. He sat up slowly, transfixed on his new fingers. “Try moving your shoulders,” Shuri said.

Bucky rolled his shoulders cautiously. This arm was considerably lighter than his previous one. He didn’t feel the pull across his shoulder blades, nor the stress on his spine and ribs. It didn’t hurt either, the graphing of artificial nerves onto his existing ones done seamlessly and with far superior technology. He spent the next hour with Shuri running him through various exercises and tests. They tested his flexibility, strength, dexterity, and control. “I proclaim you fully functional,” Shuri said with a mischievous smirk. “Look brother,” she exclaimed with a flourish as T’Challa stepped into the lab.

“Very impressive,” the king said with a soft smile before turning to Bucky. “How are you feeling, Sergeant?” Bucky shrugged, hiding his guilt and nerve behind his telltale crooked grin. “About ten pounds heavier,” he smirked. “Well what do you say, doctor?” T’Challa said, something twinkling in his eye. “Is the patient up for a visitor?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked past T’Challa’s shoulder as a brick building of a human stepped into the lab, hesitating in the doorway. He almost didn’t recognize him; the man he'd known couldn’t even grow facial hair.

“Hey Buck,” Steve said, nervous energy radiating from him in waves as he took a few steps closer. Bucky swallowed thickly, something spiky lodged low in his throat. This threw a wrench into his plans, at the very least delaying them for a while. Steve wouldn't understand. He'd chance him, again and Bucky couldn't let that happen. Silence stretched between them, clearly making Steve more nervous. He shifted his weight. Out of the corner of his eye he could see T’Challa and Shuri edging away slowly.

Bucky said nothing, hands clenched around the edge of the reclining chair. Something creaked under his left hand and he had a flash of Steve’s face bloody and bruised under his metal fist. “You look…good,” the blonde said weakly, clearing his throat. Bucky look at him, really looking at him. Steve looked tired. God, did he look tired. Dark circles bruised under his eyes and his lips were chapped. There was a look in his eyes that Bucky didn’t remember ever seeing before. It was a look he’d seen during the war, after a man had seen too much. He saw the same look in the mirror every morning.

“What the fuck did you do to your face?” he blurted out.

Steve’s gaze snapped up to his, blue eyes wide and startled. Then his face split into a wide grin. The tension between them vanished. “Talk to me once you get a haircut, jerk,” he said and if his voice was a little shaky neither of them said anything. “Yeah, whatever punk,” Bucky breathed as he wrapped his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders.

 

 

  
“You okay?” Steve murmured later that night as he dropped down into the couch beside him. Bucky just shrugged, taking a sip of whatever was in the mug that Shuri had shoved into his hands. It was spicy, smelling vaguely of cinnamon and something sweet.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Just bored. And confused.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Steve’s lips quirk as they watched a blonde girl struggled to carry the massive stuffed white into an elevator on the TV. “Don’t worry, I have no idea what’s going on either,” the other man whispered. “Shhhh!” Shuri snapped, sending a glare over her shoulder at the two of them. “Now you’ve done it,” Bucky murmured into his mug. A sharp elbow to his ribs was Steve’s only reply. 

Bucky didn't remember falling asleep but then suddenly he was being startled awake, limbs flailing and something warm gripping his shoulder. He flinched away and the touch disappeared. He blinked, scrubbing a hand across his face as the world snapped back into focus. He was on the couch. Right, movie night. Steve was sitting beside him, blue eyes full of concern with a hand hovering above his shoulder.

“ ‘m fine,” he murmured on reflex, wincing as he realized he’d fallen asleep with his new prosthetic twisted at an odd angle. The joining where metal became flesh twinged. “How long was I out?” he asked. “Almost an hour,” Steve said, a familiar twinkle in his eye. “I was gonna give you another ten before waking you. You know, before the drool soaked through my shirt.”

“Asshole,” Bucky grumbled, folding his legs underneath himself as Steve sniggered. “Shhh!” Shuri hushed for the second time. The actor on the TV was about to give a press conference about something to do with his sports career, Bucky wasn’t sure anymore. It didn’t help that he had slept through most of it. Bucky just stuck his tongue out at her. He caught Steve’s eye, startled to see something vulnerable and almost a little sad reflected there. Steve flushed, a red blush creeping up his neck as he got caught staring. “It’s just…it’s good to see you, Buck,” he said softly.

“You too, punk,” Bucky chuckled, ruffling Steve’s shaggy hair. He remembered doing this before, except he never remembered having to reach up to do it. He was pulled from his memories by the guy on the TV saying two words. 

Just two little words.

_“I’m gay.”_

Something squeezed around Bucky’s lungs like a vice. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him. Shuri and T’Challa didn’t seem bothered, the former watching with interest while the latter looked just as bored as Bucky had felt earlier. His eyes flicked over to Steve, who also looked completely at ease.

He forced himself to relax, even if he didn’t understand and his insiders were trying to claw their way out through his throat. Bucky could feel Steve glance over at him and wondered if the man could hear his heartbeat. It felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest so he wouldn't be surprised if he could.

He kept it together until the sports guy and the guy he vaguely remembered from being on the plane at the beginning of the movie were in the same room together. The guy in the suit was bushing flowers down the man’s cheek, his fingers carding through the man’s hair. He kept it together until he saw the way they looked at each other.

_A pair of bright green eyes and a military uniform._

_Fingers carding through his hair._

“Thank Bast,” T’Challa groaned as the credits began to roll. “You like this movie, don’t lie,” Shuri teased. “The first time,” T’Challa retorted. “I liked it the first time. By the eight time, it gets a little trying.” Bucky tuned out the rest of their bickering, tuned out the amused look Steve threw him at the sibling's antics. He was surprised his teeth didn’t crack from how hard he was clenching his jaw. The room suddenly felt very small, the air very thick and refusing to fill his lungs properly. He was out of his seat and half way across the room before the others could even react.

“Buck, what...?” he heard Steve call out but he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop until he was bursting out the rooftop doors and out into the rain. Pouring would be a better word for it and Bucky was instantly soaked to the skin. The metal roof felt like ice against his bare feet but his brain was numb and barely registered it.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as his feet slipped out from under him and he sat down hard, back pressed up against one of the turrets. Rain pinged off his metal arm and dripped from his eyelashes, making his hair stick across his forehead.

The colder he got, the further into himself Bucky retreated. He could almost feel the ice slide down into his throat and everything began to slip away. He’d learned how to disassociate during the war. It was the only way to cope with everything he’d seen without losing his mind. After so many years go being thrown in cryo whenever his usefulness had run out, his body now seemed to react to the cold by simply shutting down. When he was frozen, everything was simple. Everything just faded away.

The rain was just starting to let up when Steve found him.

Bucky stared pointedly at the ground next to his feet, teeth grinding. He heard Steve take a slow breath. He sat down next to Bucky, oblivious of the wet ground. It was now a battle of who would cave first. He always tried to win but Steve was a stubborn son of a bitch. It was Bucky who finally caved first.

“What do you want, Steve?” he said.

Steve shrugged. “You took off. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” Bucky swallowed thickly. “I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “Okay,” the other man said simply. He wrapped his arms around his knees and leaned up against the same turret. Bucky huffed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied. "Unless there is something you maybe wanted to tell me?" Bucky's hands clenched against the soft fabric covering his knees, feeling the water squeeze out between his fingers. “Nope,” he said stiffly. “Bucky,” Steve began but he cut the man off swiftly. “It's nothing, Steve. I'm fine,” he said, forcing a smirk. 

“Buck, I've know you almost my whole life,” Steve said softly. "You know you can tell me anything."

For a split second, Bucky almost relented. The words welled up behind his teeth and it would have been so easy to let them slip past. He couldn't. He couldn't say them out lout because that would make it all real and then Steve would know. He remembered his dreams, the horrified and disgusted look in dream-Steve's eyes when he found out. Bucky couldn't let that become a reality. He wouldn't survive it. "I said I'm fine," he stated. 

Steve just sighed and let the silence echo. It lasted so long that Bucky thought the man would finally drop the subject, or better yet just leave. He should have know better.

“Hey, do you remember,” Steve said, so suddenly that Bucky jumped at the sound of his voice. “Do you remember when we attacked that HYDRA base in France, during the war? I almost got shot by that sniper who was hiding up on the roof of the barn.”

“I kept telling you to check the high grounds. You never listened,” Bucky replied, voice low as he watched rainwater drip from the cuffs of his sleeves. He felt more than saw Steve smile. “That’s because I trusted you to always have my back,” he replied. “I trust you,” Bucky insisted on reflex, even though he refused to me the man's gaze.

“But not with this,” Steve said softly.

“Steve, don’t,” Bucky tried but his voice sounded weak, even to himself. “It’s legal now, you know,” Steve said, as simply as if he was remarking on the weather. Now Bucky looked at him, eyes wide and startled. Steve just stared out over the valley, the picture of calm. “Marriage too,” the blonde continued. “In most states, I believe. I think—,”

“Shut up. Just shut up, Steve!” Bucky growled as he leapt to his feet. His right hand was shaking and he wished it would stop. Clenching it into a fist didn’t help. He raked his fingers through his damp hair, pulling it roughly back from his face. He glanced back over his shoulder, seeing that Steve was also on his feet. He was leaning against the turret, arms crossed loosely over his chest. "I can't," he began, words stuttering off as his breath caught in his chest and he clenched his eyes against the memories.

_Memories of green eyes and military uniforms, of back alleys stinking with fear and desperation, of obituaries and guilty consciousness._

_Of dark eyes and soft lips and a feral grin._

“I can’t,” he whispered again. He stared pointedly at his feet as he swallowed the memories back down. The ground blurred, his eyes burned, and Bucky had to remind himself to breathe. Then strong arms were wrapping themselves around his shoulders and something inside him finally snapped. It was as if a dam broke and everything that HYDRA had done to him, everything he'd done while under their influence, everything he'd seen and suffered during the war, all of it hit him at once. 

He didn’t make a sound but he couldn’t stop his shoulders from trembling and he found himself holding onto Steve for all he was worth as years of loneliness and pain poured down his cheeks. Steve, to his credit, didn’t say anything. He just held Bucky until his breath evened and his shoulders stopped shaking. 

Bucky's face blushed hot as he pulled away, thankful that the rain hid the tear stains he'd no doubt left on the man's shirt. "Sorry," he whispered, scrubbing at his nose with his sleeve. “Barbarian,” he heard Steve mutter before a handkerchief was shoved into his field of vision. “Seriously?” he said incredulously, surprise snapping him out of his embarrassment. “What?” Steve said, a soft smile on his face. “My mother raised me right.”

“You saying mine didn’t?” Bucky said with a straight face, leaving Steve standing there with his hand and handkerchief extended. Steve’s face fell, eyes going comically wide. “No, Buck, I didn’t mean…that’s not what…you can’t think that I...,” he fumbled. A small weak smile pulled at Bucky’s lips. That was Steve; so fucking ernest all the time.

“It’s so easy it’s barely worth it,” he whispered wetly, putting the other man out of his misery.

“Jerk,” Steve growled affectionately as he threw the handkerchief in Bucky’s face. “Come on,” he continued, slinging an arm around Bucky's shoulders. “You’re freezing and we’re both soaked. How about we make some cocoa and catch up on the last hundred years of cinema?” Bucky swallowed thickly, steps faltering. He blamed it on the fact that he couldn’t feel his feet anymore but that wasn't the real reason. Steve’s arm tightened around his shoulders. The man didn’t even flinch away from the prosthetic arm, even though it was ice cold and jammed up under his armpit. Bucky had to give him credit for that.

“This doesn’t change anything Buck, you know that right?” he heard Steve murmur softly as he guided them into the elevator. Bucky’s breath hitched in his chest and he nodded stiffly, even though he knew that it changed absolutely everything.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a shorty but hopefully you all enjoy it!!
> 
> Edit: August 19th: Oh, and I forgot to mention earlier, I tweaked the end of the previous chapter. Just minor details in the last few paragraphs. Doesn't change much, just changes Bucky's reaction.


	8. "I didn't know."

_“You learn fast, White Wolf,”_ Junai said with a twinkle in her eye as Bucky ordered four of her legendary sticky buns in hesitant but very competent Wakandan. Bucky flushed at her praise. _“Thank you,”_ he said, taking the package of pastries and holding out a handful of coins that were the local currency. He’d recently discovered that Steve had set up an account for him, which T’Challa converted into Wakandan currency for him.

Just one more thing he owed someone else for.

 _“Today, for you, on the house,”_ Junai said with a dismissive wave at the offered money. _“No arguments,”_ she said sternly as he opened his mouth to protest. _“Only payment I ask is for you to work on your vowels,”_ she added with a wink. He thanked her again and began his way back through the market to the palace.

After a block he was mobbed by a throng of children. He chuckled as they swarmed around him, chanting _“White Wolf, White Wolf!”_ One little girl with bright round eyes and a smile that was missing the two front teeth tugged at his pants. When he knelt down to her, she produced a small white flower.

He took it with a smile and tucked it behind his ear, much to her delight. _“Alright, shoo,”_ a stern yet humorous voice sounded behind him. He turned to find Ayo shooing the little ones away. _“You have bothered the man enough for one day.”_

She shooed the children away with a smile before turning to Bucky. _“You look very pretty,”_ she said slowly, pointing at the decoration in his hair. _“Thanks,”_ he replied dryly before offering her a rice bun. _“You have picked up our language well,”_ she commented as they turned down a quieter street. _“I like learning,”_ Bucky commented, biting a chunk out of a pastry.

“So have you given thought to what is next for you, now that you are yourself again?” she asked, switching back to English. “I don’t know,” Bucky said taking a bite. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome here—,” he began but Ayo waved his comment away. “Two eyes open and yet you still do not see,” she drawled, something in the words feeling like she was reciting a quote.

She chuckled as Bucky turned to stare at her. “Do you really not see how well you fit in here?” she said, ripping the pastry apart with her fingers and neatly popping a piece into her mouth. “You’ve picked up the language as easily as if you were born with it. The Princess adores you, the King respects you, the people accept you. You could do much worse than staying here.” Bucky’s mouth went dry and he swallowed thickly, finding the dough sticking in his throat. He didn’t know what to say to that.

Steve’s recent visit had stirred up all sorts of uneasy feelings. Part of him felt a duty to the man, a loyalty that even HYDRA couldn’t erase. But the rest of him didn’t want to fight anymore and if he was being honest, that was exactly what he feared Steve would ask of him. The man had mentioned he and some of the others had been finding, raiding, and destroying HYDRA bases as they fled from international justice. Bucky wasn’t sure if he could say no if Steve asked him to come along, to pick up where they left off all those years ago. He was glad Steve was called away by Wanda, having found something at a raided HYDRA base, before he’d had a chance to ask just that. Bucky had seen the look in Steve’s eye, the way he seemed to physically stop himself from asking. He knew he couldn’t and Bucky wasn’t sure which hurt more.

They walked the rest of the way to the palace in silence. As they stepped out of the elevator, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Think about what I said,” she said softly. “You could make a life here, a home, if you wanted it,” Ayo said softly. Conflicting emotions swirled in Bucky’s gut. He opened his mouth to say, what he didn’t know, when a huge booming quake rocked the ground under their feet.

Through the window they stared in shock at the bright fireball that exploded out of the adjacent tower, showering glass out across the city. “That’s the lab,” Ayo gasped but Bucky was already moving. He sprinted through the halls, the Dora right on his heels, and through the adjoining tunnel into the other tower. Smoke billowed from the entrance to the lab and alarms blared as they raced into chaos.

The lab was completely destroyed. Smoke lay thick in the air, making it difficult to see and breathe. Tables and equipment were shattered, bits and pieces strewn about the room. The windows were blown out and burn marks scorched across the walls and floor, even the ceiling. Spot fires burned hot about the room, searing the hairs on Bucky’s arm.

“No,” Ayo breathed beside him as they took in the damage. “Shuri!” T’Challa cried as he sprinted into the room behind them. Bucky and T’Challa rounded the corner in matching strides, moving around into the back area of the lab. This part had sustained the most damage. The walls were blackened and buckling. Everything was burning, the smoke thick in the air. It clawed at Bucky’s lungs with a vengeance as he and T’Challa waded into the destruction. “Shuri!” T’Challa called out between coughs.

“T’Challa!” a high-pitched voice shrieked from the far corner, muffled under a pile of debris. Bucky helped T’Challa pull pieces of ceiling and heavy equipment away from the corner where the voice was coming from.

The king ripped away the last warped and twisted piece of metal, pulling back an overturned table. Shuri peaked up at them from underneath the muscled arm. “He saved me,” she croaked, staring down at Erik whose body was curled protectively around her. “He saved my life.”

 

  
“I don’t know what happened,” Shuri explained to them as a medic tended to her injuries. T’Challa and Okoye stood next to her, with Bucky perched on a stool a few feet away. “He was here for a fractured wrist,” she explained. Bucky’s brow furrowed, his eyes flicking over to where Erik lay on a cot, another medic hovering nearby. How much force did someone with Erik’s abilities have to hit to cause fractures.

“All of a sudden he grabbed me, flipped us over a table.” He focused back on Shuri’s words as she continued her explanation. “Then the explosion. It all happened so fast.” Her voice caught in her throat, her gaze lingering on the four cloth-covered figures of Erik’s Dora guard who had not survived the explosion.

The medic finished bandaging the shallow cut on her forearm and T’Challa wrapped his arms around her. Bucky turned away, feeling very much the outsider. He wandered back into the destroyed part of the lab, nodding politely to Okoye and the techs who were currently scouring over everything inch by inch for clues.

“How could something like this happen?” he asked softly, settling just behind the Dora warrior. “I don’t know,” Okoye replied, lips barely moving and her words just making it to Bucky’s ears. “Nothing like this has ever happened, not in the history of Wakanda. Our borders are impossible to breach, let alone the security of the citadel itself.” She pursed her lips, eyes hard. “First the attack on Nakia, now this. I don’t like it,” he said quietly, in a tone of voice that had Bucky questioning if she was asking him or simply talking aloud to herself.

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement anyways and left her to ordering the techs about. He wandered over to where the remains of the explosive device had been laid out on a table. His eyes slide over the tangle of wires and bits of metal, suddenly feeling uneasy. Something nagged at the back of his brain, something familiar that he couldn’t place.

T’Challa and Shuri were gone when he returned to the less damaged part of the lab. The bodies of the Dora had already been removed. Bucky felt a little at a loss for what to do so he quietly dogged after Erik’s stretcher as the techs moved him from the ruined lab and into one of the smaller medical facilities. Once there he sat by the foot of the man’s bed and settled in to wait. Bucky knew that if the roles were reversed he’d want someone there to watch his back while he was so vulnerable. He had a feeling that the other man would feel the same, regardless for the confusing animosity that now existed between them.

Bucky hadn’t seen Erik since that night; the night the other man had kissed him. In the beginning he’d been the one avoiding the former soldier. After everything that had happened while Steve was visiting, Bucky had tried to talk to Erik only to find that he was clearly avoiding him too.

He let himself doze, falling into that strange almost meditative state where the breathing slowed and the senses heightened. He was hyper aware of the surroundings for all that his eyes were closed and he looked to be asleep. He stayed until he heard the subtle shift in Erik’s breathing and slipped out before he woke up.

He pulled up short as he found T’Challa standing in the adjacent hallway. The man was clearly waiting for him. Bucky tensed, waiting for the questions in regards to why he had been posted up by Erik’s bedside, waiting for the accusations. They didn’t come. Instead T’Challa pulled up a security video of the lab. The hologram bloomed above his wrist, showing a member of the Wakandan citadel guard subtly strapping the bomb into place.

It was done smoothly. No one would have known what he was doing, unless they knew what they were looking at. “Photostatic Veil,” T’Challa said softly as the man moved away and the hologram dissipated. “Think of it like a hologram for the face,” he explained at Bucky’s confused glance. “Did you find them?” he asked. “No,” T’Challa said, quietly confirming what Bucky had already known. “But we will. They can’t hide forever.”

 

Despite the King’s confident words, it appeared that the culprits could indeed hide forever. Two weeks passed with no word, no clues, nothing. It was like the bombers were ghosts, slipping out through cracks in the walls. Bucky was almost impressed.

Unfortunately it was also two weeks of Bucky wound tighter than a spring in anticipation for something happening. It was three in the morning when he woke up up tasting iron from biting through his cheek, hair sticking damply to the back of his neck, and defunct trigger words rattling around in his brain.

He pulled on a hoody and strode through the quiet halls towards the small corner gym with the intent on running until the sun came up or his juiced up super soldier muscles finally gave out, whichever came first. He made it onto the treadmill, so caught up in his own head, before he noticed he wasn’t alone.

He hadn’t seen Erik since the man woke up in the hospital bed after the explosion. Bucky had thought about going to see him but he wasn’t sure what he would say. He’d been doing a lot that since his conversation with Steve, thinking. It was a lot to take in, after living his entire life keeping such a big part of himself hidden. He was still so confused about so many things about his past, he’d not even begun to sort out the tangle of feelings that fluttered somewhere deep under his ribs whenever he saw the other man.

Erik stepped back from the heavy bag in the corner, shoulders tense as he kept his back to the line of treadmills. He said nothing to Bucky as he moved to strip off his gloves. “Keep ‘em on,” Bucky found himself saying, stepping out from the treadmill and into the middle of the gym. Erik turned, expression shuttered and carefully neutral as he tossed the gloves aside and yanked a hoody on over the black hand wraps that twined around his wrists and over his knuckles. His dark eyes flicked down the left side of Bucky’s body, down the new addition filling out the sleeve of his grey sweater.

“Not looking for a fight,” he finally said, words stiff. “I don’t believe you,” Bucky shot back as he stepped closer, echoing the man’s own words back at him; words spoken what now felt like a lifetime ago. “Fuck you, Barnes,” Erik snapped, but the harsh words lacked any real venom. If anything, he just sounded tired. “I’m not in the mood for deal with whatever bigoted 1930's bullshit you’ve go—,” Erik’s words were cut off as Bucky slapped him full across the cheek. Open palm; he wasn’t looking to break Erik’s jaw. The sound of skin on skin cracked harshly across the room, echoing back on itself.

“You just fuckin’ _slap_ me?!” Erik gasped, clearly more shocked than in pain. “Yeah I did,” Bucky rasped, hands clenching into fists by his sides. “What are you gonna do about it?” Erik snarled, a nasty animalistic sound rippling out from somewhere deep in his chest as he crowded into Bucky’s face, nose scant inches from his own. Heat sparked in those dark eyes and Bucky felt something in his chest tighten, his mouth gone dry.

“I don’t waste my time on closeted bitches,” Erik said cruelly but something flickered in his eye that had Bucky wondering if there was more history behind those words than just a nasty barb. Without another word Erik brushed past him, moving to slam his shoulder into Bucky’s.

Bucky sidestepped as Erik moved, sliding his hand up to clasp around Erik’s bicep. There was no warning and between one heartbeat and the next, the former assassin found himself slammed down onto the mats. Instinct took over and he lashed a foot up and out towards the other man. Erik batted his kick foot aside with embarrassing ease, dropping down between Bucky’s legs so he couldn’t kick the other man.

Not willing to let Erik get the upper hand so easily, Bucky snagged the front of Erik’s sweater with his new metal hand and yanked him forward. Off balance, Erik faltered and it was enough for Bucky to bring his leg up and across the man’s throat. Bringing his leg down, Bucky slammed Erik onto his back, pinned with the back of Bucky’s across his throat.

His victory was short lived. Bucky kept forgetting how damn fast Erik was, not to mention flexible. The other man rolled, flipping Bucky with him like a crocodile with his prey. He landed on his front and flinched as a heavy weight hit his back. Feet hooked over his legs, knees pressing into the back of his thighs.

He bucked his hips, reaching up behind him with his metal arm. He felt his fingers brush fabric but then a vice-like grip wrapped around his wrist. His arm was hooked around his own throat, his chin resting across the artificial bicep. A hand pulled the elbow back while the weight atop him pushed him down, creating a choke hold out of his own fucking arm. His shoulder joint burned, the pull on the old scar tissue just short of painful.

He slammed his right elbow back and up, connecting with Erik’s side. The man barely flinched and Bucky found his wrist grabbed and twisted up behind his back. He thrashed, trying with everything he had to dislodge the other man but Erik had him twisted up like a pretzel. Agitation began to set in, clawing at the backside of his ribs. His vision tunnelled, adrenaline flooding through his enhanced system.

“This what you call a fight, pretty boy? Huh?” Erik’s voice reached his ears, sneering and cold. A knee moved up to pin Bucky’s right wrist against the small of his back. A hand cuffed the back of his head, a scolding and belittling smack. It was a glancing blow. It didn’t hurt; it did no more than ruffle his hair, but….

 

_Lights flashing, disorientating and painfully blinding._

_Gun metal cool under his fingers. Only his right fingers. The sharp sent of nitro swirling in the air. The hard crack as the recoil snapped back into his hand. The soft shnick as the bullets sliced through the paper._

_The last one just off from dead centre._

_“Oбращать внимание!”_

Pay attention.

_A sharp kick to the back of the leg. A knee cracking to the concrete floor. Painful control words fresh in his scrambled brain keeping him from fighting back._

_A harsh slap to the back of his head._

 

Everything slowed, his mind narrowing to tunnel-vision efficiency. His shoulder and back screamed as he twisted. The pain paid off as he managed to free himself from the octopus-like hold Erik had him. He landed a solid kick to the man’s solar plexus, forcing space between them.

Even with the distance, without the choke hold cutting off his air, Bucky still felt like he couldn’t breathe. He struggled with a shaky breath, trying to find his centre but he was completely off balance. Endorphins were still flooding into his brain, dilating his pupils and making everything hyper sensitive.

“I didn’t know,” he choked out.

Erik paused, muscles tensed in a low crouch, eyes sharp and predatory. Blood trickled across his eyebrow from a blow Bucky didn’t remember landing. Bucky clenched his fists, feeling his fingernails bite into the palm of his right hand. The pain helped ground him, clearing his head and helping him focus.

“I didn’t know,” he said again, voice steadier. “That it was legal now.”

Erik clearly didn’t know what to do with that information. He physically reared back, just an inch. The movement was almost imperceivable but it was there. Bucky had clearly caught him off guard. After a long moment, broken by nothing by the harsh breathing from both of them, Erik moved. He stood gracefully, crossing the distance between them with deliberate steps, and held out his hand. Bucky didn’t hesitate before taking it and finds himself gently pulled to his feet. 

Erik was gone in the next breath, the ghost of his touch lingering on Bucky’s palm.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since I updated and I know this chapter is a shorty but I've been very busy with work lately. Hopefully this is enough for a little tide over. Feedback is my fairy dust! Lemme know if you're still enjoying what I'm writing! xoxo


	9. It was the closest to regret he'd ever come.

  
Erik woke to klaxons blaring and pounding footsteps outside the door. He was on his feet before his brain registered fully where he was, acting only on instinct. He shook off the clinging tendrils of sleep as he rushed out into the hallway. He found it abandoned, the footsteps now only a fleeting echo in the distance. Even the few Dora warriors who had been reassigned to lurking by his doorway were gone. He strode swiftly along the corridors, searching for anyone who could tell him what the hell was going on.

He ran into a few people, civilians and soldiers alike. Nobody stopped him. Nobody even gave him a second glance. Clearly everyone had something else on their minds as they rushed around the citadel in a barely controlled panic. He was headed to the rebuilt lab, taking a shortcut along the catwalks that skirted the main tower, when he saw them. A spearhead of Dora warriors armed to the teeth strode out onto the launchpad towards a waiting jet.

In the middle was Bucky.

Erik didn’t hesitate as he vaulted off the catwalk and landed the three story drop easily directly in front of Bucky. The Dora turned as one, levelling their spears at him. Barnes didn’t even blink, slipping the last buckle of his armoured blue vest into place. Erik didn’t have to ask, his eyes held the question as Bucky accepted an assault rifle from a nearby warrior and slipped it over his shoulder.

“They took Shuri,” Bucky said, eyes hard and cold as ice.

Erik didn’t have the chance for a response as Bucky brushed past him, the rest of the Dora parting around Erik like a river. He turned sharply and that’s as far as he got. A spear tip pressed lightly against his sternum and he looked up into Ayo’s dark eyes. “Not you,” she said sternly before turning smartly and joining the rest in the jet. The last thing Erik saw before the ramp closed was a pair of pale blue eyes staring back at him.

 

It took three days.

Three days of waiting before Erik was standing on the tarmac again, the wind of the landing jet whipping his clothes harshly against his body. He couldn’t admit to himself why he stood there, like some fucking sailor’s wife waiting for the sea to return her long-lost love to her arms. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to be anywhere else, not with a certain blue-eyed man’s words echoing in his ears.

_“I didn’t know that it was legal now.”_

Erik had faced the unpleasant truth about certain parts in the world when he realized his inclinations lay in other avenues than his friends and he had been careful to hide them away. Even at such a young age, he knew better. There was no such thing as _‘Loud and Proud’_ in the back streets of Oakland. Growing up in the 30s though, where your very being was not just shameful but illegal; that was something he couldn’t begin to fathom. 

Erik stood alone; T’Challa had still returned after his trip for the UN summit meeting. Mechanical issues with the jet had him grounded in the Washington, leaving the King fretting himself into a frenzy, unable to lead the rescue mission himself. His chest felt tight as the Dora filed out of the belly of the aircraft, battle weary and bloody. He did a headcount; two less than had left. Medics swarmed them, gathering the injured away to have wounds tended. Then came Ayo, with a gash down the side of her face and a bundle of blankets in her arms. Medics with a hovering stretcher that floated at hip height rushed forward.

Erik waited as the medics and Dora began to file off the tarmac but no one else stepped out of the jet. He waited, seeing movement in the dim interior of the jet, but it was only the pilot and her second. A small hand grabbed at his sleeve and he looked down to meet Shuri’s tear-filled eyes. Her words froze like ice in his chest. “It was a trap,” she croaked, a single tear leaking from the corner of her eye. 

“They didn’t want me, they wanted him.”

  
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It had been easy, too easy.

He should have realized something was wrong but then they had Shuri, with a half a dozen guards dead on the floor, and everyone was focused on getting her out. No one realized what was happening until it was too late and he’d been separated from the rest and hopelessly outnumbered, even by his abilities.

He fought a rabid wolf. He used every dirty trick in the book and none of them could lay a finger on him. When he ran out of ammunition he switched to knives and when the last of them went sailing down the hallway to bury itself hilt deep in an agent’s chest, he used his fists and heavy combat boots with lethal precision. Six more agents fell with crushed windpipes and broken necks before one managed to snap a heavy duty mag-cuffs around his left wrist. What should have been nothing more than an annoyance turned into disaster as whatever magnetic components that made up the cuff interfered with the arm and it went dead by his side.

He still managed to kill three more before somebody finally managed to get a shot off. A stab of pain ripped from his right thigh, just above his knee. He stumbled to the side, staying on his feet through sheer will alone. Something, most likely a baton, cracked against the back of his injured leg and he went down.

They were on him instantly. Four more agents fell before they got another cuff on his right wrist and his hands snapped together behind his back with a harsh clang as metal met metal. He got one last kick in, crushing the man’s nose up into his brain, before they managed to flip him onto his front. The breath was crushed from his lungs as at least three agents literally sat on him. A needle snapped deep into his neck and a moment later everything turned to fog.

 

He woke strapped down to a reclining chair with that hated black muzzle wrapped around his jaw. They must have done it when he was unconscious. After they’d slapped those heavy duty mag-cuffs on him, after they’d got him on the ground, the only weapon he’d had left was his teeth. He could still taste that metallic tang of someone else’s blood. He hated the taste, hated the feel of the mask pressed up against the underside of his jaw.

“So they went and broke you of your training, hmmm?” a heavily accented voice said from somewhere behind him. He flinched and thrashed but the cuffs were holding him fast against the chair, with more bands around his legs and across his chest. He couldn’t help but flinch again as a breath brushed his ear, hot and heavy and smelling of cigarettes. The man’s next words sat like ice in his throat and brought a kind of panic he hadn’t felt in a long time welling up to the surface.

“We’ll just have to retrain you, won’t we?”

  
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It was easy, too easy.

Bucky had asked him once why he stayed, because with his training and abilities it wouldn’t have been difficult to sneak away. He’d been right. It was childishly easy to get abroad a grounded jet. Good ol’ Wakandan genetic coding locks that were keyed to nothing more than the markers in his DNA. Tactical gear was stored on neat shelves, black as night, backed with vibranium and fitting with multiple flex-points to allow the wearer maximum flexibility and comfort.

He found weapons next to that; handguns and a wide selection of knives and ring blades. The drawer below that held assault rifles. Spears were racked across the hull. He changed quickly, instincts and focus honed to a knife’s edge as he buckled straps and clips. He donned a tactical belt, sliding weapons into their sheaths with practiced precision.

A whisper of air being displaced behind him wouldn't have been enough of a warning for most but it was enough for someone with his abilities. In all of a breath he’d spun round, spear snatched from the nearby rack levelled at Ayo’s throat.

“Don’t think you can stop me,” he said, his volume soft, tone anything but. “Don’t think you can pull this off on your own,” Ayo replied evenly. He felt a sneer threaten to creep through on reflex and he swallowed it down. Ayo didn’t blink, not that he expected her to. “Do you even know where you’re going?” she commented mildly. Now Erik did sneer, baring his teeth aggressively. She didn’t budge and eventually he gave way. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right.

“Well, what are you waiting for, an invitation?” he drawled, spinning the spear lazily in his hand before racking it back again the bulkhead.

 

  
Ayo said they’d caught wind of chatter about a desolate HYDRA base suddenly bustling with activity. It was a short flight by Wakandan technology standards. They flew in silence, after the protesting radio calls from Wakanda had ceased.

There wasn’t a copilot seat in this style of aircraft so Erik sat on the floor nearby, lounging back against the smooth bulkhead as he slowly settled himself. It was a ritual he always did before he went into a fight; settle into the body, rid the mind of anything that could compromise the mission. Everything is compartmentalized, emotions shoved aside and locked away. Sentimentality and empathy were just other words for death wish on the battlefield.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he drawled, not bothering to turn around. It helped to talk. He’d always hated the silence. Whenever he and his team had been dispatched, it was always such a raucous affair. Lewd jokes and insults were batted back and forth, the banter helping them keep their minds grounded. They had been the elite, and the elite knew that you had to fight like you were already dead. That way you didn’t have anything to lose.

“Oh come on,” he chuckled when the woman didn’t reply. “What did I ever do to you?” He barely managed to finish the sentence before the lights above slammed into the blue autopilot mode and hands latched onto his collar. His back slammed against the bulkhead hard and a slender knife was pressed tight against his throat.

“I should kill you where you stand,” Ayo hissed, hate and pain darkening her eyes to black. “Then why don’t you?” Erik snarled back, leaning forward into the blade in threat. He felt the sharp edge of the blade slice into his skin, drawing blood. “Go on, do it,” he spat, rage bubbling in his veins like a poison.

“Do it, just fucking do it, bitch!”

A small part of him, buried deep down in the unconscious part of himself, almost wanted her to do it. The black self-hatred he refused to properly acknowledge demanded it. Ayo didn’t move. The knife continued to be held in steady hands for all that the muscles in her jaw trembled and her eyes held pain behind the anger. “I would not cause someone else the heartache you have caused me,” the warrior replied softly.

The words didn’t hit right away, their dual meaning sinking in slowly. First was the notion that his death would cause another heartache. He could only imagine that she meant Bucky, which was altogether ridiculous even if the notion made his insides flip. The second was that he had caused her some heartache. Erik couldn’t imagine what, outside the generic betrayal and trying to take over the country. Unless...she couldn’t mean...

_Oh._

Ayo must have seen the shift in his eyes, because the knife shifted against his neck has her fingers twitched. Her other hand white-knuckled itself in the neck of the tactical vest he’d donned. Erik felt the blood trickle down his neck, soaking into his collar. “Her name was Shiari,” Ayo said, voice tight and thick sounding. “And she was mine.”

Erik’s molars ground together. In the heat of the moment the Dora warrior he’d killed had meant nothing; she was merely collateral damage, a show of strength, a testament of how far he had been willing to go. He didn't blink at taking a life, not anymore. Sometimes, in the dark of the night when he was feeling melancholy and alone, that knowledge made him sad. For the most part, it just made him stronger, made him a survivor. 

He didn't have to kill her but he had. He’d killed that warrior out of spite, out of some dark sense of satisfaction that he felt at the anguish in the other warrior’s eyes, at the cry that tore from Okoye’s throat. Ayo hadn’t been there, she hadn’t seen first hand what he’d done to her warrior.

There was no way for him to make this right.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Ayo snarled as Erik opened his mouth, hate blackening out any trace of pain in her eyes. “I wouldn’t insult you like that,” Erik said, a prickle of pain tickling at his throat as he swallowed against the blade. “Or her,” he added quietly. He had a code, no matter how fucked up it was. The pain slipped back into the Dora’s eyes and in that moment, so close to a pain he had directly caused, Erik hated himself. It had been easy when he was a soldier, one of the elite and nothing more than a ghost to the rest of the world. He’d never stuck around long enough to see the results of his work, not like this.

It was the closest to regret he’d ever come.

A soft ping came from the console, chirping in alert of their approaching destination. Ayo hesitated only a moment, then the blade was gone from Erik’s throat. He sat up off the bulkhead, wincing as the blood rushed back into his lower back. His hands itched for a blade, to carve marks into his skin, to honour the lives he'd taken the only way he knew how. It was the closest he could ever come to atoning for the bloodshed he'd caused, and it didn't even begin to come close to being enough.

“We’re here,” Ayo said stiffly, ever the professional.

Erik kept an eye on the woman as the jet landed smoothly in a small clearing in the middle of a heavily wooded area. He watched her as she slide neatly into her own armour, strapping weapons to various hooks on her belt. “Are we going to have a problem?” he had to ask as the ramp lowered with a quiet whir. The glare she levelled him was answer enough and Erik said nothing more, just followed after her in silence.

There was nothing left of the building where Shuri had been held, only crumbled rumble and dust. The dust had barely settled, the smell of carbon and heat heavy in the air. This destruction had been recent. They’d known they were coming. “Fuck,” Erik spat softly, eyes roaming over the wreckage with a growing panic. It lodged under his ribs and stayed there, years of training and discipline refusing to let it take control. How would they find any clue in this mess?

“Here!” Ayo called from the far side of the wreckage. Erik hurried over to find the woman clearing bits of rubble from atop a trap door. He helped with the heavier pieces before wrenching the door back on stiff hinges to reveal a narrow ladder that extended down into darkness. Erik descended first, with Ayo following carefully. They found one hallway crumbled in on itself but the other was intact. A soft blue glow illuminated the darkness, coming from Ayo’s _kimoyo_ beads. Carefully, ever cautious that the ceiling might cave in on them at any moment, they made there way down the shadowy corridor.

Eventually the hallway lead them into a room filled with banks of computers. Most were smashed, some were even partially melted, but a few seemed to have been missed during the demolition. Partial records flickered on screen but nothing that was useful, until Erik spotted a flickering feed in the far back corner. Part of the screen was cracked, the image fluttering with spots and static, but it was still clear enough.

Clear enough to pick out the silhouette of a man with long dark hair strapped to a wall.

Erik said nothing, could say nothing, as he stared at the image. He searched for any clue as to where they might be holding him but the angle of the camera gave nothing away. There was nothing. Nothing until his eyes spotted some sort of stamp in the bottom corner of the image. It wasn’t anything in the cell, it was on the feed. A series of numbers and letters.

“Look,” Ayo said, moving away from where she had been looking over his shoulder and pointing to one of the fritzing monitors. Here was displayed the same series of numbers and letters and across from it was another line of numbers, interspersed with decimal points.

Coordinates.

Erik glanced across to Ayo, unable to force the question past his lips as he couldn’t find a way to make it sound less pathetic. There was nothing in her returning look that gave away what she was thinking. “We should go,” she said evenly as she gathered her spear. Erik’s hands gripped the edge of the table in a vice grip as his ribs seemed to close in on his lungs. “Germany is a long flight,” Ayo added over her shoulder as she strode out into the hallway, the blue glow of her _kimoyo_ beads fading away, leaving Erik in semi darkness.

The faint light of the broken monitors swam before his eyes and Erik let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

  
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The pain felt like it would never end but like all pain, it did. He just felt cold now, the pain turned to ice in his head. He heaved in huge gasping breaths, feeling the damp air burn his abused throat as the cold metal retracted from his temples. The chair whirred sickeningly as it hauled him back into an upright position. His muscles trembled from the strain, tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

“What is your name?” a harsh voice clawed at his ears, too loud even as the overhead lights were too bright. He didn’t quite understand the question, or maybe he’d just forgotten how to answer. He tended to forget, or he had. He couldn’t really remember that either.

He remembered….pictures. Faces. A pair of bright blue eyes too big for the face and a mop of blonde hair that never quite behaved. A dark pair of green eyes in a handsome face below a soldier’s cap, a single lock of black hair curling across the forehead.

Hard, wicked eyes under a mass of dark braids; eyes that seemed to see straight to the core of him.

“What is your name?” the voice asked again, impatient now, and he blinked up into a stern faced man in a soldier’s uniform that he didn’t recognize, rank strips along the bicep that he didn’t know. He couldn’t get his eyes to focus and they drifted beyond the man’s shoulder to stare at the wall instead. At least he knew what that was, the smooth grey stone unremarkable and comfortingly solid.

A sharp slap smacked across his face, whipping it to the side. Long hair fell across his face as he blinked, cheek stinging. It didn’t hurt, not really. It felt more like a recalibration than a punishment, forcing his focus back to the man standing in front of him.

“I will ask only once more,” the man said, anger now blatant in his voice. A hand buried in his long hair and dragged his head back, forcing him to make eye contact. “What is your name?” the man growled. He swallowed thickly. He struggled to find an answer but couldn’t quite manage it. “I don’t know,” he whispered softly, voice rough from screaming. The man smiled, a sickly slimy stretch of thin lips over smal teeth that made him want to shudder in revulsion.

“Good,” the man said with a satisfied sneer. “Very good.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness! What have I done? I'll try not to leave you in suspense too long....  
> And that you for your outpouring of support and all your kind words. Reading them makes my day! xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Eep! It's not a popular pairing but something about it drew me in so I thought I'd give it a crack! I keep writing because you keep reading, so let me know what you think! As always, feedback is my fairy dust! xx


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